


Matters of the Heart

by Sumiscribe



Category: Digimon Adventure Zero Two | Digimon Adventure 02
Genre: Dating Friends, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Questioning Sexuality, Teenage Hormones, awkward teenagers, girls supporting girls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 20:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9843386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumiscribe/pseuds/Sumiscribe
Summary: Growing up is a messy business, what with all those Feelings to deal with.[DaiKen, Takari, hints of MiyaKen and Hiyako]ON POSTING HIATUS - See End Notes for Details!





	1. In Which Daisuke and Ken are Caught in the Act

They had never meant for things to go this far. Yet somehow, there they were -- Sixteen years old, stripped down to nothing but their briefs, sprawled in a tangled mess of limbs and disheveled hair on the couch of Daisuke’s family apartment.  The living room was strewn with their various articles of clothing, Ken’s sweater tossed carelessly over the chair, Daisuke’s pants and Ken’s shirt crumpled on the floor, not to mention the house slippers, belt, and Daisuke’s goggles and t-shirt littering the coffee table and the carpet.  The menu screen of a video game, hastily abandoned, played on loop on the TV.  No, neither of them had expected for things to go this way.  That was the only explanation for how they’d found themselves in this situation, both frozen in a mutual state of panic.  

Because there, standing in the doorway, gaping like a fish, was one Motomiya Jun.

In that one horrified moment, the entire day’s events seemed to flash before Daisuke’s eyes.  Once the initial shock cleared, the room erupted into the kind of chaos one could only expect from the Motomiya’s.    
  
Jun screamed, and made a show of covering her eyes.

“N-n-n-n-neechaaaan!” Daisuke screeched and, somewhat numb below the hips, scrambled off of his best friend, tumbling to the floor with all the grace of a flamingo. Ken for his part could not seem to do much except look utterly mortified, his normally ivory skin glowing pink as he shrunk into the couch cushions, knees pulled up, and holding a hastily-obtained throw pillow over his hips as if to cover his shame.

“WHAT THE HELL DAISUKE?!  Oh god _MY EYES_!” Jun shrieked

“I thought you had class tonight!”  
  
“It got cancelled!”

“Why didn’t you call?!” It was a dumb response, but it was all Daisuke could think of as he fumbled on the floor, trying to get his feet back under him.  
  
“I never call!  I _live here,_ why should I _call_ ?! Oh my god Daisuke, I did NOT need to come home and see my little brother in his tighty whities doing… doing… _with--_ ”  she floundered for words, daring to peek through her fingers as she maintained her dramatic show of trauma.     
  
Daisuke may have been over-reacting, but he could have sworn she was attempting to get an eyeful of Ken, and that didn’t sit well with him at all.  

“We weren’t doing anything!” Daisuke growled, pitching a pillow at his sister.  It hit her square in the face, and finally her hands dropped.

“Oof--!  -- You expect me to BELIEVE that?  Look at you guys! What is this, Daisuke?  Is Ichijouji-kun your _boyfriend_ now? Are you _gay_ ?”  Jun managed to sound equal parts scandalized and delighted, and it made Daisuke’s stomach do uncomfortable somersaults.  
  
Blushing a deep red from some combination of anger and embarrassment, Daisuke grabbed the pillow from the floor, and used it to shove his sister toward her bedroom door.  “Just shut up!  It’s not any of your business!”  
  
“Not my business? You’re the ones being _shameless_ all over the living room!”  
  
“Would you just… Leave us alone for _five minutes_ ,” he growled, pushing her with the the pillow acting as a barrier between her and his underdressed body.  
  
After much continued struggling and loud provocation from Jun, Daisuke managed to push her into her room, throwing the pillow at her, and then shutting her door.  “And stay in there will you?!”  
  
With a heavy sigh, Daisuke scrubbed a hand through the mahogany mess of his hair, and made his way back to the main room, head hanging low.  He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so humiliated.  Jun really was the _worst_ .  A sheepish apology was on the tip of his tongue, but as Daisuke lifted his head, he discovered the living room was vacant.  The only trace that there had been anyone there were the scattered articles of clothing, and the slight indentation left in the couch cushions.    
  
“Ken?”  Daisuke asked the empty room.  He looked from side to side, realizing that Ken’s share of clothing items were also missing.

  
Pursing his lips, Daisuke turned and walked slowly back down the hallway, this time towards his own room. The door was shut, but slightly ajar, the lights still turned out.  It was exactly the sort of thing Ken would do, not wanting the sound of a door latching to draw extra attention.  Softly, Daisuke pushed the door in.  The dim glow of Daisuke’s computer monitor cast blue light and harsh shadows over the form of his best friend.  Ken’s back was facing the door as he finished buttoning the collar of his shirt.  His posture was rigid, his shoulders hunched, his clothes less than immaculate after having been discarded so carelessly.    On Daisuke’s bed, Chibimon and Minomon snoozed obliviously, snuggled up together.

“Ken.”

He straightened at the sound of his name, fingers pausing over plastic buttons.  He did not turn, and for a moment, seemed to hold his breath.    
  
“Hey,” Daisuke tried again as he stepped into the room, closing the door a bit behind him, “Sorry about J--”  
  
“I’m going home.”  
  
Ken’s voice was soft and even, but he may as well have dumped a bucket of cold water on his friend’s head.  Daisuke stopped in his tracks.    
  
“Now?  But, I thought you were staying over.”  
  
Ken said nothing as he pulled his sweater over his head, then attempted to smooth out his hair.  Daisuke remembered the feeling of those dark strands slipping through his own fingers, and was startled by just how distracting that was.  Once finished with his hair, Ken reached out and gingerly collected Minomon in his arms.  Chibimon shifted only slightly at the disturbance.  Daisuke waited for a reply, but realized he wasn’t going to get one.  At least, not one he liked.    
  
“I-- I’ll walk you to the train, then,” Daisuke offered.

“You don’t have to,” replied Ken.  He avoided making eye contact, but glanced at him sheepishly from the corner of his eye. “Besides, you’re not dressed.”  
  
Abruptly reminded of his state of dress (or undress, as it were), Daisuke had the decency to blush anew.  Ken used that one flustered moment to breeze past his shoulder, through the bedroom door, headed just a bit too quickly down the hall.  Daisuke whirled, following close on his heels.    
  
“I can throw stuff on, just give me a minute!”  
  
“There’s no need, Motomiya.”  
  
Daisuke cringed.  Ken rarely called him that anymore, and when he did, it was usually in jest.  This time, there was no pomp or sass in his tone.   He wasn’t teasing, he was dead serious.  Daisuke wasn’t about to let that deter him though.  Grabbing his pants off the floor, he hopped clumsily into them.  Just as he was retrieving his shirt though, he heard the click of the front door, hinges creaking slightly from the cold.  Ken was already slipping out the door as Daisuke pulled his shirt on hastily over his head.  He scrambled, leaving his coat, and slipping into his shoes without bothering with socks.  Ken was already standing at the elevator door, waiting, and Daisuke pursued him.  
  
“Look, Ken, I’m sorry, can I just--”  
  
“You don’t need to apologize,” said Ken, his voice so even that it was actually unnerving.  “I just think it’s better if I go home.  Alone.”  
  
Daisuke wasn’t normally one to take No for an answer.  He had always been a little too forward, a little too insistent.  On some level, he knew he was difficult, but Ken always took his behaviour in stride, never fussing, always so warmly accepting.  At that moment though, Ken wouldn’t even _look_ at him.  When Daisuke reached for his arm, Ken slipped just out of reach of his fingertips.  Daisuke pulled his hand back, as if burned.  The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open.  
  
“...Will you at least call me and let me know you got home ok?”     
  
Finally, Ken dared to glance sidelong at him.  “Yeah.  Of course.”  
  
It took all of Daisuke’s restraint not to step into the elevator with his best friend.  He waited for the doors to close again before he turned and shuffled back into the apartment. Exhaling heavily he discarded his shoes at the door, and walked barefoot into the livingroom.  Mindlessly, he picked up the socks, the house slippers, and his goggles.  The slippers went back by the door, the rest of the items tucked under his arm.  He turned off the game console, and then the TV.  Finally, he looked at the long, L-shaped green couch his parents had had for almost ten years.  The cushions didn’t bounce back like they used to, the fabric wrinkled and sagging where they had recently born the weight of two bodies.  
  
The sudden memory caused the blood to rush to Daisuke’s face, and he turned to make a hasty retreat to his room.  There, lights still turned out, Daisuke deposited his possessions on the desk before unceremoniously flopping backwards onto his bed.  He stared blankly at the ceiling, the evening’s events replaying over and over in his mind.  Gritting his teeth, Daisuke slammed a fist repeatedly against his forehead, as if it could cleanse him of the images.  
  
“Stupid, stupid, _stupid,_ ” he berated himself, folding his forearm over his eyes.  At this, Chibimon finally stirred, rubbing his eye with his tiny little hand.    
  
“Daisuke?” he implored, crawling over Daisuke’s chest, leaning into his face, pushing his arm aside.  “Daisuke, what’s the matter?  Where are Ken and Minomon?”  
  
“They went home,” he deadpanned.  
  
“Oh…”  Chibimon sounded disappointed.    
  
Daisuke said nothing more, and Chibimon pouted.  Absentmindedly, Daisuke folded an arm around Chibimon, hugging the little monster to his chest.   It was there, still clad in his t-shirt and sweatpants, that Daisuke fell asleep.

 

* * *

Ken was beyond mortified.  Even now, seated on the near-empty evening train back to Tamachi, he couldn’t relax.  He kept his shoulders hunched, his knees pressed together, one arm cradling Minomon.  The small larva digimon dared not speak, for fear of attracting attention that Ken obviously did not want. Instead, he stared up at his partner with silent concern as Ken stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on the quickly passing scenery.    Absently, Ken’s hand hovered near his mouth, fingertips grazing over his lips.  He could still feel the heat in his skin, the whisper of Daisuke’s lips where they’d pressed against his own. The very thought of it sent a fresh wave of shame down his spine, while something else entirely churned in his gut.  Even fully clothed he felt vulnerable and exposed, convinced that everyone was looking at him.     
  
Ken wasn’t sure which was worse -- that he’d somehow ended up in a confusing and compromising situation with his best friend, or that Daisuke’s sister had walked in on it.  He thought about what might have happened if she hadn’t, and just entertaining the idea of a ‘what if’ made him feel suddenly light-headed.  The more he tried to stop thinking about it, the less he could.   He felt his composure spiraling out of his control, his mouth drying out, his head reeling.  
  
When the train pulled into Tamachi station, Ken couldn’t get to his feet fast enough.  He exited the car with such quiet single-mindedness, Minomon placed a small hand on his arm.  
  
“Ken-chan, what’s wrong?” he dared to ask.  
  
Ken’s grip on Minomon tightened, and he reached to absently stroke between his antennae. “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he said, keeping his voice as even as possible.

  
In truth, he didn’t think he could have explained it to Minomon, even if he had wanted to.  He was almost positive that Digimon didn’t understand these kinds of things, and even if they did, Ken certainly didn’t at the moment.  Without another word exchanged, Ken briskly made his way down the streets, wanting nothing more than to retreat to the safety of his own room.  
  
“I'm home,” Ken called softly out of habit, as he opened the front door of his family apartment.  He could hear the sound of the TV from the living room, and running water.  
  
“Ken-chan?  Is that you?”

  
“Yes, Mama,” he replied in his usual, well-practiced cadence.  

It was then that his mother peeked around the corner, drying her hands on a towel.

  
“We weren’t expecting you home so soon sweetheart. I thought you were staying over at Daisuke-kun’s.”  
  
Ken felt a knot in his stomach.  What would his mother think if she knew?  What would his _father_ think?  The question alone was more than he could stand at the moment.  He moistened his lips, then offered her a smile as he put on his house slippers.  
  
“Something came up, so I came home instead. Sorry it’s so late.”  
  
His mother gave him a look of concern, but if she noticed his hampered appearance, she said nothing.  Instead, she smiled softly.  “That’s alright, but I hope it’s nothing serious.  Did you eat? There are leftovers in the refrigerator if you’re hungry.”  
  
“No, I’m fine.  I think I’m just going to go to bed,” said Ken, dropping a feather-light kiss on his mother’s cheek as he breezed passed her.  “Goodnight, Mama.”  
  
She murmured a soft ‘goodnight’ to her son, her gaze following him until he disappeared into his room.  Once inside, Ken leaned heavily against the door, cloistered safely in the darkness of his personal sanctuary.  Slowly, his shoulders relaxed.  After a few calming breaths, Ken moved softly across the room, turning on his desk lamp, and then depositing Minomon in the loft of his bed.  His digimon partner watched him through the side bars of the bunk as Ken silently crossed the room to his closet.  Hands working on autopilot, he began to dress for bed.  Meanwhile, his mind wandered.  He thought about Daisuke.  He thought about himself.  He thought about the harmless, familiar gestures of the evening, and tried to find where they had turned, how they had ended up…

It was a mistake.  Surely, it had to be.  An accident, and nothing more.  They were just fooling around.  They were curious, they were comfortable with each other…  
  
His fingers grazed his abdomen as he buttoned his nightshirt, and he bit his lip, remembering other fingers, other touches.   He remembered mischievous grins and smoldering eyes. He remembered Jun’s screams, and feeling stripped of more than his clothes.  His hands stilled.

How could he ever look Daisuke in the face again?    
  
In pure frustration, Ken buried his fingers in his hair, gripping a fist full of dark locks.  

“Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ ,” he mumbled to himself, Minomon looking on in silent concern.  

Exhaling a long, shuddering sigh, Ken collapsed in his desk chair, staring at the screensaver dancing across his computer monitor. He shut his eyes, his elbows propped on the desk as he buried his face in his hands.   

He didn’t know how long he sat there, events of the evening playing over and over on an obsessive loop through his brain.  It was Minomon’s voice, squeaky and concerned, that pulled him back to reality.  
  
“Did something bad happen?”  
  
Ken lifted his head, fingers untangling from his hair as he looked up at his partner.  The little bug stared at him with big, watery eyes, antennae dipped low.   Ken’s face fell in a mirror of his friend’s, and he gently pushed himself away from the desk.    
  
“I’m sorry.  I’ve worried you, haven’t I,” Ken said more than asked, as he reached to turn off the desk lamp.  His eyes still adjusting to the dark room, he shuffled softly to the bed, and climbed the ladder up into the loft.    
  
Although growth spurts in his early teens had left the bunk feeling much closer to the ceiling, Ken never saw a reason to replace it.  Instead, he crawled on hands and knees until he was lying beside Minomon, and pulled the blanket up over them.  The normally energetic little digimon snuggled up to Ken much like a cat, so much smaller in his arms than six years ago.

  
“I just don’t like to see you looking sad,” Minomon chirped, obviously quite content to be nestled so close.  
  
“I know.  I’m sorry.  I’ll be ok, I promise.”

 

* * *

“Daisukeeee!”

Daisuke woke belly-down on top of his comforter, and no less frustrated than he’d been when he fell asleep.  The only difference was that his stomach was more empty, his hair was significantly messier, and a little blue digimon had latched himself into the veritable nest on top of his head.  Sunlight slipped in through the cracks in his blinds.  
  
“Nngh?”  he grumbled, his face buried in his pillow. “When did it get to be morning?”  
  
“When the sun came up!” Chibimon replied helpfully.  Daisuke just chuckled into the pillow before rolling over, Chibimon flopping onto the pillow beside him.  

Clumsily, Daisuke slapped around for the digital clock at the head of his bed.  Finally he grasped it, pulling the screen close to get a look.  “10 am, huh?”    
  
Daisuke pulled himself up onto his elbows and set the clock back in place.  Thankfully it was Sunday, and he had nowhere to be.  The evening’s events still fresh in his mind, he reached for his phone, expecting to find a missed call or text message from Ken.  
  
There was nothing.    
  
“Eh?”   _That can’t be right…_

  
Sitting up completely, Daisuke checked his read emails, his texts, his missed and received calls.

Nothing.  Not a word from Ken.  The lack of any communication was unnerving.  Ken could take care of himself, but that was beside the point; he’d promised to let Daisuke know he’d gotten home.  Daisuke tightened his jaw, and flipped to a new message.  
  
<< _Hey.  Make it home ok?_ >>

Daisuke stared at the screen for a moment, before finally pressing send, then tossing the phone aside.  Over an hour passed, and Daisuke’s phone remained silent. It wasn’t until he was rubbing his damp hair through a towel after washing up, that his phone finally chimed with a new message.  Carelessly letting the towel drop to the floor, Daisuke dove for the phone.  
  
_ << Yes.  Sorry.  I fell asleep early. >> _  
  
Daisuke pressed his lips into a tight line, his elbows resting on the mattress.  He glanced at the clock, then back at his phone.

<< _It’s ok.  Want to go do something? We could ask Hikari-chan and the others, too._ >>   
  
He stared for a long while at his phone, waiting for what he expected would be an immediate response.  It must have been at least ten minutes before his phone chimed again.

<< _I’m not feeling well, so I’ll pass.  Another time._ >> __  
  
Daisuke frowned at his phone, then dropped it unceremoniously onto the bed.  Maybe he was over-reacting.  Could be that Ken really was coming down with something.   Maybe that had more to do with his behaviour than anything else.  For the moment, Daisuke wanted to believe it, and so he did.  To get his mind off of things, he decided to follow up on his own suggestion, and spend some time with his other friends.  With any luck, maybe they could get his mind off of Ken.


	2. In Which Hikari is at the Center of Everyone's Business

A few emails and a couple of hours later found four teenagers gathered around a table at a local cafe. The sound of other diners chatting overlaid the faint ambient music playing over the speakers.  

“This was a great idea!” Miyako declared as she leaned back in her chair, stretching arms over her head.   
  
“I agree.  It’s been too long since we got together.  I know High school is busy, but I don’t want us to grow apart,” said Hikari, as she casually stirred the straw in her half-empty milkshake.    
“Yeah, it’s too bad Iori-kun couldn’t make it though,” Takeru added, dipping a french fry into some ketchup.  
  
“He works too hard,” Daisuke groaned, “One day off isn’t gonna kill ‘im.”  
  
“Says the guy who barely passed his _own_ high school entrance exams because he was always ‘taking a day off’,” Miyako wheedled, and Daisuke sunk back in his chair with his arms crossed. The rest of the table giggled at his expense.   
  
“What about Ichijouji?” Takeru asked.

“Yeah… I know Tamachi isn’t exactly a short trip, but he comes out here all the time, doesn’t he?” Hikari asked, reaching over to steal a fry from Takeru’s plate.  He didn’t stop her.  
  
“He _said_ he wasn’t feeling well.” Daisuke mumbled flatly, before taking a bite of his burger.  

“Awww… that’s awful.  I’m so sad he couldn’t make it,” Miyako whined, turning her attention forlornly to her drink.  
  
Daisuke cocked an eyebrow as he chewed and swallowed.  Miyako had never been shy about her on-again off-again crush on Ichijouji Ken, even since they were in elementary school, though she primarily limited it to when Ken wasn’t around to see it.  Apparently it was an ‘On-Again’ day.  After six years of indecision and inaction though, no one took her mooning too seriously anymore.  Daisuke couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but something about her swoony declaration that afternoon really pushed his buttons.  His agitation must have been written on his face, because out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Hikari’s gaze on him.  She gave him this strangely knowing look, the kind that had convinced Daisuke on previous occasions that Hikari had some kind of psychic powers.  It had taken him years to figure it out, but she was capable of reading him like an open book.    
  
“There _is_ something pretty awful going around right now.  I hope he’s alright,” Hikari said pointedly, before finally breaking eye contact to take another sip of her milkshake.

Daisuke just balked at her.   _What was_ that _all about?_

“Should someone go out and check on him?” Miyako asked, looking back and forth between Daisuke and Hikari.  Whatever it was Hikari was throwing, Miyako wasn’t catching it either.  
  
“It’s probably just a cold you guys, I’m sure he’s fine,” said Takeru, attempting to lighten the mood. “It’s that time of year, ya know?”

“Yeah, but it could also be something more serious, like the flu,” Miyako countered.

The whole conversation had set Daisuke’s mood to Irritable.  They never talked about Ken this much, and now they couldn’t seem to get off the topic.  Why now?  Why today?

“Can we talk about something else?” Daisuke cut in, drumming his fingers on the table.    
  
All eyes turned to Daisuke, a bit surprised by his sudden request.  

“Something the matter, Daisuke?” Miyako tilted her head,   
  
“I just don’t see why we’re still talking about this.  Ken couldn’t make it, that’s all there is to it,” he replied, before sticking his straw in his mouth and taking a long pull of soda.   
  
“He’s right, it’s not like there won’t be other times to see each other.”  Ah, Hikari to the rescue.  Daisuke softened a bit.  She always was his favorite of the chosen girls.  “What should we do today?  I know Tailmon’s disappointed we didn’t bring them all along, so maybe we should find something to bring back for them.”

Trying to go anywhere with a gaggle of Digimon was more and more difficult the older they got.  Kids with stuffed animals didn’t really draw attention, but teenagers were another story.  The best solution they’d developed was dropping them all in one place so they could have their own social gatherings.  Every now and then they snuck out to find their human partners, but they had promised to be good this time; they hadn’t seen each other in a while either.    
  
Much to Daisuke’s relief, the topic stayed off of Ken for the rest of their meal.   They tossed around a few ideas of places to go and things to do, ultimately putting together a gameplan as their food and drinks began to dwindle.   Takeru waved down the waitress to get their checks, and Hikari excused herself to the restroom to freshen up.  No one was surprised when Miyako leapt to her feet and followed on Hikari’s heels, leaving Takeru and Daisuke alone at the table.  

With Ken and Iori both absent, this left the boys in a very rare situation.  It was uncommon for the two of them to spend any time together without the buffer of others, so it was understandable when they dropped into a moment of awkward silence. Normally, Takeru would have been more interested in what was left of his plate of fries, and Daisuke would have seen if he could drain his soda and get a refill to-go before the girls came back.  This time though, just as soon as the girls were out of earshot, Takeru turned to Daisuke.  
  
“Hey, I wanted to ask you something.”  
  
“Hmm?”  Daisuke continued to work on draining his glass.  
  
Takeru glanced in the direction of the girls room, then back at Daisuke.

“I think… I want to ask Hikari-chan to go out with me.”  
  
“Huh?” Daisuke startled, his straw stuck to his lips.  “What’s that got to do with me?”  
  
“Daisuke-kun, we _all_ know you had a crush on Hikari-chan all through Elementary and Middle School.” Takeru folded his arms on the table and leaned inward. “Since I haven’t seen you show any interest in another girl since, I figured you were still carrying a torch for her.”

Daisuke stared at him blankly, waiting to feel… something. Jealousy?  Anger?  But the only thing that came was a realization that Takeru was, essentially, asking for his permission to date Hikari.  That meant, he could say No.  He could single handedly put a stop to the one thing he’d always seen as his biggest obstacle toward obtaining Hikari’s affections back in elementary school.  But Takeru was respecting _his_ feelings and, much to his own surprise, Daisuke found he didn’t want to stop him. Not that he was _thrilled_ about the idea of Takeru Takaishi coming in and sweeping Hikari off her feet. She had always been precious to him, ever since that first day they’d been put in the same class, and she’s looked at him with those warm eyes and a smile as bright as a summer day.  Even still,  somewhere along the line…  
  
“Honestly,” Daisuke began softly, setting his empty glass aside, “I ...haven’t thought about her like that in a long time.”  
  
“Really?” Takeru straightened a bit in surprise.

When had he stopped chasing her?  When had Hikari stopped being his crush, and started being his _friend_?  He couldn’t recall, but seemed like it had been longer than he ever noticed.  

“Yeah.  I mean… don’t get me wrong, Hikari-chan’s special.  She’s pretty much an angel among us mere men.”

The irony of the statement, given her Digimon Partner, was not lost on Takeru.

“I guess, I just wanna see her happy.  That’s all,” Daisuke finished with a shrug.

“It really doesn’t bother you?”

Slowly, Daisuke shook his head.  “So, go for it?”  
  
It even surprised Daisuke to hear the words coming out of his own mouth.  It took a second longer for the response to register in Takeru’s mind.  When it did, he smiled.   That wasn’t an unusual thing to see on Takeru’s face, but this one seemed so much more genuine than usual.  It almost made Daisuke question every other smile that had come before it.  
  
“But let’s get one thing straight,” Daisuke continued, lifting a hand to poke his blonde comrade in the chest.  He leaned in, his voice lowered.  “You hurt Hikari-chan, and I will _end_ you, Takaishi.”  
  
Takeru laughed, but Daisuke convinced himself there was an edge of nervousness to it.

“Trust me when I say, if I ever hurt her…” the blonde sobered, “I’d _let_ you.”

 

* * *

 

Miyako stared at her reflection in the mirror of the ladies room.  At the age of Seventeen, Miyako had a lot going for her;  she was smart, top marks in school, and class representative to boot.  There’d even been murmurs of nominating her for Student Body President for her final year of highschool.  She was funny, and boisterous, and full of ideas, but she was reluctant to admit that she thought she had grown into a remarkably _average_ _looking_ young woman.  True, her hair was healthy, still worn long as she had since elementary school, her skin was clean, and her eyes were bright, even if they were still framed by glasses;  she’d never had the guts to consider contact lenses, because the idea of sticking her fingers that close to her eyes made her cringe.  Miyako had always felt like a bit of an Ugly Duckling, but she’d had to admit, she could have done worse.  Certainly she’d never quite achieved Swan status, but she wasn’t what anyone would have dared call Ugly.  Just over the line of Plain, her self-perceived shortcomings were nothing a little makeup and fashion accessories couldn’t enhance, if she psyched herself up enough.    
  
So really, it was time she stopped being so timid about everything; fear of rejection, based on whether or not she thought she was _pretty enough_ for someone, was not becoming of _any_ girl, especially not Inoue Miyako.  
  
“Hm.  Alright.”  Resolved, she leaned on the sink, looking her reflection straight in the eye.  “I think I’m going to do it.”

“Do what?” Hikari’s voice carried over the toilet partitions, just before the door swung in and she emerged from the stall.    
  
Miyako caught sight of Hikari’s reflection behind her, and as she had done for many years, she compared the two of them.  It’s not that Miyako was jealous, but she’d always thought that her Jogress partner was prettier than her.  Hikari had a cute little button nose and heart-shaped face, warm eyes framed perfectly by the delicate fringe of her short, pixie-like haircut.  She was thin, but soft in all the right places, while Miyako was a bit taller than most girls her age, and hadn’t filled out quite as much as she would have liked.  Hikari was Classically Pretty, the kind of girl that guys fell all over themselves for, even though she sweetly and politely turned down any who had the nerve to ask her out -- and there was no shortage of them.     
  
What she wouldn’t have given to have just a fraction of Hikari’s effortless beauty.  
  
“I’m going to tell Ken-kun that I like him,” Miyako declared, making eye-contact with Hikari’s reflection.

Miyako had been hoping for the usual vote of confidence that Hikari tended to give her in all other things.  Instead, she saw a gentle look of concern creep into Hikari’s eyes as she stepped up to the sink beside her.

  
“Are you sure that’s such a good idea?”

Hikari may as well have rammed her fist into Miyako’s solar plexus.  Miyako’s face fell as she turned to face Hikari directly, one hand lingering on the porcelain rim of the sink.  Hikari turned on her own faucet.  
  
“Why wouldn't it be?” Miyako asked, an edge of uncertainty creeping into her voice.    
  
Hikari worried her bottom lip between her teeth.  The moment of pause before she answered felt like an eternity.  

“Well… you’ve been indecisive about him for so long. Are you really sure about how you feel? Or are you just being impulsive?”  
  
Miyako winced.  She wasn’t stupid; she knew no one took her crush on Ken seriously, but that didn’t make the hint of doubt in Hikari’s voice sting any less. Not that Miyako blamed her… it wasn’t like Ken had been her only crush -- far from it in fact. Once she’d entered middle school, Miyako had developed a bit of a reputation for being boy-crazy, and it had followed her into high school.  She had nursed a crush on almost every member of the boy’s soccer team at their high school at one point or another, though they had been as fleeting as snowfall just before spring.  But there had also been the captain of the swim team, the head of the debate team, the student body president when she was in her third year of middle school...

“Besides…” Hikari continued hesitantly, cutting in on Miyako’s thoughts “...I’m... not sure you’ll get the answer you want.”  
  
Miyako immediately straightened, her shoulders squared.

“You…. you don’t think he could like me?” she accused, unable to hide the twinge of hurt.  
  
Hikari flinched, raising her hands in defense. “I didn’t say that! It’s just that…well, I think there may be…”  she averted her eyes, “someone _else_.”

  
Appealing desperately, Miyako grasped Hikari by the shoulders, invading her personal space until she was nearly nose-to-nose with her jogress partner.  She searched Hikari’s eyes as if she could will their connection to gift her with a peak into Hikari’s mind, right  then and there.  Alas, it seemed things didn’t work like that for them, but it never stopped Miyako from trying.

“H-how do you know?  Did he say something to you?  Has he confided in you?” Miyako implored, pulling Hikari closer with each successive question.    
  
“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Hikari insisted, shrinking back as well as she could within her Partner’s grip.  The younger girl seemed more pinned by Miyako’s eyes than her hands. “It’s just a feeling I get.”  
  
To say her answer was unsatisfying would have been an understatement.  For one thing it was incredibly vague, and if anyone else had said they had ‘a feeling’, Miyako would have waved them off without so much as a thought.  Hikari was different though -- she was intuitive, and observant, always had been; if Hikari had a _feeling_ , it usually wasn’t for nothing.   But even Hikari wasn’t infallible, and certainly she could be wrong this time, right?  Lips curling into a shadow of a pout, Miyako slowly drew back, her fingers uncurling from Hikari’s biceps.  Absently, Hikari rubbed at her arm, and a jolt of guilt pierced Miyako’s chest.  She could be rather overzealous at times.    
  
“Miyako-san…” Hikari began, reaching out to gently take Miyako’s hand in hers.  “I’m not trying to discourage you.  I just want you to protect yourself.  I know it’s hard to think clearly when you care about someone.  You in particular put yourself out there so much, it would be so easy for you to get hurt.  I’d hate to see that happen.”

The tension drained from Miyako’s slender shoulders, and the knot eased out of her brow.  Of course, Hikari was just looking out for her.  Miyako’s heart warred with itself, grateful to have a friend who cared so much about her well-being, but still disappointed at the lack of faith in her success.   
  
“...Do you really think I shouldn’t tell him?” Miyako asked softly, gently squeezing Hikari’s hand.  
  
Hikari offered the most wary, sympathetic smile that Miyako had ever seen.   


“It’s your choice, if you really want to or not.”

“Mm…”

For a moment, Miyako took silent comfort in the warmth of Hikari’s hand.   She and Hikari had never shared quite the depth of synchronicity that Daisuke and Ken seemed to following _their_ first Jogress, but that wasn’t to say they felt nothing from their connection.  Hikari had quickly become Miyako’s best friend, her pillar, and her greatest confidant.   She knew Hikari was closer to Takeru than any of the other chosen, but she liked to think Hikari felt the same toward her. Even if they hadn’t been able to keep as close of contact after Miyako moved on to High School ahead of her, and the following year had been filled with Hikari preparing for her own high school entrance exams.  As the old adage went, Life got in the way.  It just made Miyako even more thankful for moments like these.

Allowing her decision to hang in the air un-made, Miyako finally released Hikari’s hand.

“Do you think Daisuke is acting weird?” Miyako asked.

Hikari seemed grateful for the change in subject.

“What makes you say that?” she asked.  
  
“Just, that _look_ he gave me, when I said it was a bummer that Ken-kun couldn’t be here.”  
  
“You noticed that too, huh?”  
  
“How could I not!  He was looking right at me.” Miyako turned and leaned her back against the counter. “What do you think that’s all about?”

“It’s hard to say…” Hikari mused, although something about her face told Miyako that she had her own ideas.  “Maybe he’s… Jealous?”

“Jealous? ...What, of Ken-kun?” Miyako paled considerably, and dramatically gripped the counter for stability as she recoiled.  “Like, Daisuke might have a crush on _Me_?”  
  
“I think you’re reading into things the _wrong way_ ,” Hikari countered gently, and the tension drained out of Miyako’s shoulders; she was the perfect picture of relief. That is until, finally, she caught Hikari’s meaning.  
  
“Wait a second… You don’t think that _Daisuke_ \--”  
  
Miyako stopped short.  The look on Hikari’s face was all the answer she needed.

 

* * *

“So, what about Miyako-san?”  
  
Daisuke nearly spit his soda.  “Say what now?” he choked.  
  
“Well, I mean if you’re not interested in Hikari-chan anymore, there must be someone else, right?”  Takeru grinned.  “You guys already argue like an old married couple.”  
  
“You can’t be serious,” Daisuke glowered at Takeru.  
  
“Mm… yeah, you’re right,” Takeru leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully tapping his chin, “You two are way too much alike, it’d never work.”  
  
“We’re too much--” Daisuke sputtered indignantly, slamming his glass on the table, “I am NOTHING like her!”

Takeru gave a hearty laugh, and Daisuke’s expression soured.    
  
“You’re just making fun of me now.”  
  
“Sorry, sorry,” Takeru sputtered, folding a hand over his mouth.  “But you should have seen the look on your face.”

Before Daisuke could make a comeback, the girls reappeared at their sides, effectively putting an end to whether or not there was any chance of compatibility between Daisuke and Miyako.   
  
“Sorry it took so long.  You two ready to go?” Hikari asked, bending to retrieve her bag from the booth.

“Yup, bill’s all paid for,” said Takeru, flashing one of his winning smiles.

God, Daisuke hated those.  
  
“Ooh, Takeru-kun’s a high-roller today,” Miyako teased, playfully elbowing him.  

  
Then, her gaze shifted to Daisuke.  She looked him up and down in a way that made Daisuke feel like he was a bug under a microscope, and his shoulders tightened reflexively.  She fixed him with a pointed gaze, but before he could ask what she was staring at, Hikari seemed to notice her behaviour and tugged on her sleeve, pulling her attention away.  Daisuke’s gaze shifted back and forth between the girls as he absently shrugged his coat back on, and retrieved his backpack from the ground.    
  
_Why is everyone acting so weird today…_  he wondered to himself, eyebrows pulling together. He didn’t know why Miyako seemed suddenly so intent on evaluating him, but he hoped that it wasn’t related to anything Takeru had been suggesting moments ago.    He had enough on his mind already, and he didn’t need to add Miyako to that mix.


	3. In Which Ken Recalls Saturday Night.  Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is part of the reason this fic has an M rating. Nothing graphic mind you, but it is a very Daiken-heavy chapter.

Ken had been recounting the events of Saturday evening, every night since it had passed; sometimes, more than once.  He would lie in bed, or sit at his desk, or perch at the table by himself, where he would close his eyes, and think.  This time, he’d drawn a bath and submerged to his chin, steam filling the room with a comfortable fog. The heat of the water worked its way into his skin and tense muscles, slowly easing the ache from every fiber and cell.  Just like each time before, he started at the beginning.  And, just like each other time, he tried to remember every detail, looking to pinpoint what exactly had gone differently  _ that _ night compared to any other.  He remembered it starting like most, Daisuke in the kitchen, and himself and their digimon partners in the living room. 

“Looks like we’re on our own again,” Daisuke called from around the corner, as he flipped the little post-it notes stuck to the refrigerator. “Notes from Mom  _ and _ Dad, both ‘ _ working late’ _ tonight.”

The way he said ‘working late’ sounded like a euphemism, but Ken didn’t give it much thought.   
  
“That’s alright,” came Ken’s reply from the living room, “I’m sure we can manage.  If you don’t want to cook, there’s always take out.” 

It wasn’t so unusual, being alone together in Daisuke’s apartment.  His parents worked late more and more often as their children aged, though Daisuke had wondered aloud on more than one occasion, that maybe they were actually doing  _ other _ things, together or otherwise.  The Motomiya household had always been a bit dysfunctional, and so different from Ken’s own home life, that it was hard for him to really judge as an outsider.  Because of this, he decided it was best not to talk much about it.

“Should we plan for your sister?”  
  
“ ‘Neechan?  Nah, she’s got classes tonight, and usually she goes out with friends afterward.  I’d be surprised if she rolled in before 10.”

Jun, now nineteen, had started taking courses at the local university the year before, making it convenient for her to still live at home, while hardly ever being there.   She slept there, and ate meals there about half the time, but otherwise was scarce.   Daisuke seemed to prefer it that way; he and his sister had grown more tolerant of each other over the years, but they’d never be as close as say, Hikari clearly was to Taichi;  they just clashed too much.

“So it’s just the four of us then,” Ken observed, absently rubbing a hand over Minomon’s head, then leaving him to roll around with Chibimon. Their happy laughter carried through the apartment.  
  
“You’re staying over, right?”  

Daisuke would always ask on days like these, and it wasn’t so much an invitation as it was seeking confirmation.  That evening was no exception.  Though Ken never outright said yes, he didn’t say no until he had to, and he ended up staying more often than not, especially on weekends.  It had almost become an unspoken arrangement of theirs.  Although he never said anything about it, Ken could tell that despite not getting along well with his sister or having much of a connection with his parents, Daisuke hated being alone in the apartment.  Chibimon was usually there, of course, but it wasn’t the same as human contact.   Daisuke had always been extroverted, craving the company of others.

Somewhere along the line, they had settled on dinner;  Daisuke had been getting pretty good at homemade ramen, something he had started seriously experimenting with in middle school.  He was always looking for an excuse to try a new variation, and Ken was more often than not willing to be a test subject.  If it didn’t turn out well, they just ordered take-out, and the leftovers never went to waste -- Chibimon rarely complained about anything Daisuke ever cooked, unless it was well and truly awful.   

Ken remembered leaning across the counter, his arms folded on the formica as he watched Daisuke work away in the kitchen.  Tanned fingers wiped a mix of condensation and sweat from his brow as he leaned over the pot on the stove, and Ken felt a warm smile pulling at his mouth.  Cooking was one of those times when Daisuke always seemed completely in his comfort zone, an easy confidence and attentiveness over pots and pans.  Occasionally, he would glance over at Ken and flash a grin and a thumbs up, make small talk, or chatter about the cooking process.  Ken always listened attentively, aware that for all his own varied skills and strengths, cooking would never be one of them.  It was one thing Daisuke could always best him at, even if the only thing he could really cook so far was noodles.  Ken had faith, that would change with time. 

On all other grounds, they were more or less equals.  Even more so now as Daisuke grew older, trained harder, and the edge that the Dark Spore had given Ken had gradually dropped off.  Both of them retained their athleticism through middle school and into high school, a friendly competitive streak fostered between them.   It usually manifested itself in one of two ways; on the soccer field, where their school teams still played against each other, or in the form of playful rough-housing.  They’d been doing more of the latter in recent months, something Ken assumed came from pent up energy that even a good soccer match couldn’t fully exhaust. They were teenagers after all, and things in the Digital World didn’t keep them as busy as they used to.

Nothing about dinner was unusual.  Daisuke flailed animatedly with his chopsticks, delivering the occasional slug to Ken’s shoulder.  He always scolded Ken for eating so politely, because that just wasn’t the way that you ate Ramen.   Ken put up with it, usually with the occasional roll of his eyes, and a probing verbal jab of his own.  Chibimon and Minomon ate their own portions with gusto, and asked for seconds.   Daisuke obliged, and Ken helped with the dishes.  More small talk.  Soccer.  The forecast for snow. Winter break was coming up in a few weeks.   Again, nothing out of the ordinary, but the normalcy of it all was comforting in it’s own way.  

Minomon and Chibimon retreated for food-induced nap, and the boys wound up on the couch, playing video games.  Racing games mostly, because Ken refused to touch anything that involved violence; just one of those things he’d never been able to stomach after what he’d done during his turn as the Kaiser.    
  
“Ha! Eat my dust, Ichijouji!” Daisuke cried as his car overtook Ken’s on the screen.  
  
“I wouldn’t call it so soon, Motomiya,” replied Ken, with an edge of cockiness he used almost exclusively for baiting his best friend.  
  
Ken leaned into the controller, as if more force could truly help his cause.  But sure enough, his car _did_ advance, the blue car on the screen coming up from behind and swiftly taking the lead.  
  
“What?!  No way!” he heard Daisuke cry, though he kept his eyes trained on the screen, a triumphant smirk pulling at his lips.  
  
He had come to recognize this moment as his first mistake.  When fingers danced across his ribs, playfully pinching, Ken squirmed reflexively, jerking sideways.  The uncontrollable laughter bubbled up in his throat, even as he tried to break away from his attacker.  His grip on the controller slipped, and so did his lead.  Daisuke, grinning wide, continued to lean in toward Ken, tickling his side with one hand, the other tightly gripping the controller, laying on the stick until finally the red car passed the blue one, then the lap mark, and then the finish line.  Finally free of his attacker, Ken gasped for breath and leaned over the arm of the sofa as Daisuke shot to his feet with his controller raised.  
  
“WOOHOO!  In your face!”  
  
“Daisuke--” Ken half gasped, half-laughed, clutching his side, “That’s cheating.”  
  
“House rules!” Daisuke countered, pointing a finger in Ken’s face.  “Anything goes!  You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first.”  
  
If overestimating Daisuke’s sense of fairness had been his first mistake, then seeking revenge had been his second.    
  
“Well, two can play that game,” he mumbled under his breath, rising to his feet.    
  
Daisuke didn’t see it coming.  In seconds, Ken was on him, hands flying, fingers seeking out all of the most sensitive spots with expert precisions.  Daisuke dropped his controller as he doubled over, alternating rumbling laughter and high pitched cackles that lit an unusual spark of glee in Ken.  Daisuke was good, but Ken was _better_ , he knew just how and where to move when Daisuke tried to escape.    
  
Ken’s third mistake, was becoming over-confident.  If there was one thing he should have learned from that first soccer match back when they were in elementary school, and all the subsequent times they had faced off in the digital world, it’s that Daisuke made his own rules. He took shots without thinking, and he threw himself head-first into things.  Before Ken realized what was happening, Daisuke had turned the tables, grabbing him in a headlock. The tickling stopped, but unfortunately for Daisuke, Ken was still a black-belt in Judo, no matter how rusty.  Grasping Daisuke’s arms, Ken prepared to heave his friend to the ground.   
  
But of course, Daisuke knew how to fight dirty.  In a tumbling mess of limbs, Daisuke had managed to seize onto Ken’s sweater.  As he barreled over Ken’s shoulder, he pulled the knit halfway up Ken’s torso, tangling up his arms, and effectively bearing them both to floor with a force that rattled the coffee table. For a moment both of them were still, lying in a heap with Ken draped over Daisuke, the air knocked from their lungs, and spots dancing in front of Ken’s eyes.  With a groan, Daisuke rolled Ken softly onto the floor, and leaned over him.  
  
“You ok?” he wheezed, hands planted on either side of Ken’s shoulders.  
  
Ken stared up at him, attempting to restart his lungs. “Yeah,” he choked.  “Nice moves.”  
  
He must have been quite the sight.  He certainly _felt_ ridiculous, with his shirt pulled loose from his waistband, his sweater bunched up around his arms and shoulder.  He’d lost his guest slippers somewhere in the tussle, and Daisuke’s trademark goggles had slipped halfway back on his head, his t-shirt twisted around his body.  Daisuke snorted, unable to help the grin on his face.  
  
“You look _so_ dumb right now.”   
  
“You shouldn’t talk,” replied Ken, “you don’t exactly look pristine yourself.  Besides, it’s your fault.  You don’t fight fair.”  
  
“House rules.”  Daisuke repeated, and Ken thought he had never looked more smug.   
  
They both lapsed into silence.  Maybe he was still stunned by the collision with the floor, but Ken just couldn’t seem to force himself to move.  Daisuke’s elbows remained locked, his body bent over Ken’s in a way that might have seemed almost predatory, if Ken didn’t feel so completely safe with him.  He studied his best friend’s face and unkempt mahogany hair in a way he’d never done while Daisuke was looking.  The menu screen of the video game played in a loop on the TV behind them. 

Initially he thought, Daisuke had moved first.  Subsequent recollections had Ken convinced that he had actually made the first move himself.  This time, he thought, maybe they met somewhere in the middle.  In all the times he’d thought it over, this was one of the details he could never seem to pin down.  The only thing he was certain of was that, somehow, he managed to pull his elbows underneath him, pressing his shoulders up from the floor, the space between them shrinking.  Daisuke leaned down, Ken leaned up, and somehow they met in the middle.  Eyes slid shut and lips collided in a soft, tentative exchange.  Ken felt a sigh rise in his chest, but when their lips parted again, it died in his throat.  He could feel the warm breath on his cheek, and dared not open his eyes.    
  
He felt Daisuke’s leg move against his own, heard the creak of the floorboards as he shifted over him.  

“Dai--”  
  
Ken was silenced by those same lips, taking his again.  Firmer this time, a hand folded under him, palm spread between his shoulderblades, pulling him close so their chests pressed together.  Even through the layers of their clothing, Ken swore he could feel that familiar second heartbeat, hammering against his breastbone.   It was only a moment, but it felt like hours, before Daisuke withdrew again, the air uncomfortably cold against Ken’s burning lips.    
  
Finally, he did open his eyes, not sure what he expected to see.  What he found was Daisuke staring back at him with the laziest grin he’d ever seen, and something mischievous in the depths of chocolate eyes.  Ken could feel warmth spreading from his neck, to the tips of his ears.  The apartment was suddenly entirely too hot for his winter wardrobe.  
  
The rest had seemed like a blur, but Ken tried desperately to remember how things progressed from there.  Neither of them said much.  Ken wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it, even if he could find the words.  What did one say after spontaneously sharing a kiss with their best friend?  Especially, when one had never kissed anyone but their own mother before.

Somehow, they untangled from one another.  Daisuke got to his feet, then he helped Ken.  Still too warm, Ken turned away from Daisuke and peeled off his sweater, draping it over the back of the arm chair.   A moment of thoughtful pause, as Ken smoothed out his shirt.  Then, Daisuke playfully grabbed him from behind, one arm locked around his waist in more of a wrestling hold than embrace.  He lifted Ken off his feet with impish glee, and an undignified yelp of surprise leapt from his Ken’s lips.   It seemed they had gone back to rough-housing.  Ken squirmed, his body still unsure whether he was supposed to be fighting back, or _something else_ , unusually aware of how much surface area of Daisuke’s body was pressed against his own. He turned his head, looking for a way to regain the upper hand.  
  
That is, until he felt Daisuke’s lips grazing over the shell of his ear.  Ken sucked a breath in through his teeth, a gentle shudder dancing down his spine.  All resistance went out of him as Daisuke set him back on his feet.  He was almost embarrassed at the way his body betrayed him; he could never have convinced anyone that he was uncomfortable with those advances when he reacted like that.  Daisuke’s fingers fumbled with the buttons of Ken’s shirt, navigating purely by sense of touch as he smiled into Ken’s hair, pressing firmly up against his back.  Then, he dipped his head, tucking his nose into the crook of Ken’s neck, sending another ripple of shivers through his skin.  The buttons taken care of, shaking hands drifted uncertainly to Ken’s waist, and began fidgeting with the buckle on his belt.    
  
It had been a bit like pressing a panic button. Ken’s posture grew rigid, his own hands flying out to grip Daisuke’s wrists.  At that, he abruptly stopped.

“Sorry--” Daisuke choked, suddenly more aware, less sure, less eager.  “I wasn’t-- I can stop if you want?”  
  
Ken licked his lips, his mouth dry, a base drum beating in his chest.   Did he want that? Did _Daisuke_ want that?  Ken was a bit of a prude, very traditional, but he was far from dead below the waist.  Adolescence had a way of filling even the most rational, methodical mind with questionable thoughts, and wants, and _needs_.  The quiet, rational half of his mind whispered that this was entirely inappropriate.  He and Daisuke were both _boys_ , and this was his Best Friend besides.   Ken was stronger than that.  He was restrained, he was chaste, he was--  
  
\--feeling Daisuke breathing against the back of his neck, a tingling sensation crawling over his scalp.  
  
Appropriate or not, he could think of no one else that he would have ever allowed to come this close to him.  He shied away from touch more often than not, except where his family and Daisuke were concerned.  And Daisuke was his Jogress Partner, the one bright spot of light that had lead Ken out of his self-imposed isolation some six years earlier.  They had already shared minds and hearts…  
  
Maybe that was why his inhibitions dropped so quickly.  He _trusted_ Daisuke implicitly, with everything; even his own body.  
  
“I want ...to see your face,” he breathed.  
  
Taking advantage of Daisuke’s lowered defenses, Ken swiveled around, his knees failing him as he fell against Daisuke’s chest, grasping fist-fulls of his t-shirt.  Instinctively, Daisuke’s arms locked around him.  A warm pink hue colored Daisuke’s cheeks, and his eyes were bright and glassy, unlike Ken had seen before.  Hesitantly, he reached a trembling hand through mahogany hair, fingers catching the band of Daisuke’s goggles and sliding them the rest of the way from his head.   Carelessly, he tossed them onto the nearest surface -- the coffee table.    
Seconds later, calloused hands slipped beneath Ken’s shirt, gliding up his spine.  Before he could protest (if that was indeed what he’d planned on doing at all), Daisuke’s mouth was covering his, sighing into him, soft sound vibrating through to his core.  Long, ivory fingers snaked around Daisuke’s waist, taking handfuls of red jersey knit.   Neither of them knew what they were doing, that much was clear, their lack of experience palpable in their every gesture.  Daisuke’s movements were eager, but clumsy, an ever-present shiver of nerves trailing from his every digit.  Ken was drowning in a cocktail of adrenaline and oxytocin, somehow always half a step behind Daisuke, receiving more than giving, both of them a clamoring of unmet demands. The urge to feel skin against skin was overwhelming as Ken pulled at the edge of Daisuke’s shirt, pushing it up toward his shoulders.  Spurred to action by that one sensation, Daisuke withdrew, and lifted his arms so that Ken could peel the shirt off his back.  Where it landed, Ken did not know, nor care.  
  
It wasn’t that he’d never seen his best friend shirtless before, but that’s exactly how it _felt_ ; somehow new and altogether different.  He didn’t have long to mull over his new appreciation for Daisuke’s sun kissed shoulders; those matching hands were grasping the front of Ken’s open shirt, folding it back over slim shoulders, tugging the fabric down his arms.  Daisuke seemed to forget his task somewhere around Ken’s elbows, as he dipped his chin to lay a trail of kisses over exposed collarbone instead.  Arms pinned to his sides by the wayward shirtsleeves, Ken’s head fell back in an open-mouthed sigh as Daisuke’s lips moved up the pale stretch of his throat.  Squirming in frustration, Ken managed to shrug the shirt off, all but forgotten where it settled in a heap on the floor.  

Their hands were  _ everywhere _ , Ken’s fingertips pressing into neck and shoulder muscle, Daisuke’s palms roaming every inch of ivory skin that he could find. Somewhere in the storm of sensations firing across Ken’s nervous system, Daisuke had managed to discard his sweatpants, kicking them aside before returning his attention to the underside of Ken jaw.  Heavy breaths were punctuated by involuntary sighs, pale fingers digging into the tender flesh of Daisuke’s arms. The low rumbling at the back of Daisuke’s throat sent ripples through Ken’s skin like a breeze over a still pond.  He was so distracted, he didn’t notice the path of Daisuke’s wandering hands until they settled on his belt.  This time, despite the way his fingers fumbled gracelessly, he managed to loosen the clasp without interruption from Ken.  One smooth motion and Daisuke yanked the leather strap free, casting it aside with a flick of his wrist. The buckle clattered as it joined Ken’s shirt on the floor.

Without the aid of his belt, Ken felt the waistband of his khaki’s slip down on his narrow hips. Cupping Daisuke’s face in both hands, Ken brought them together for another kiss.  And then another, and another, each more sure, more probing than the last.  Suddenly emboldened, Daisuke advanced, backing Ken towards the couch.

Ken knew what was coming about half a second before it happened, and he could do nothing to stop it.  The console controller from before still laid in the path between them and their intended destination.  Ken stepped on the sharp edge of the plastic, and his foot tangled in the chord.  His ankle skewed, and the only thing he had to grab onto, was Daisuke.  Two bodies fell as one, landing harshly on the sofa, Ken’s head colliding with a crack against the back of the couch.  Stars burst behind his eyelids, an involuntary groan escaping his throat.   
  
“Oh sh-- Ken, I’m so sorry, geez, are you ok?!”  he heard Daisuke’s frantic voice, and felt the weight shift off of him.

His head throbbed, but slowly he forced his eyes open.  His visioned recollected on Daisuke,  kneeling on the couch, bent over him with an expression of worry and shame.  Rough fingers combed tenderly through Ken’s dark hair, seeking out any sign of injury.     
  
“It-- it’s fine,” Ken managed, gently grasping Daisuke’s arm..    
  
“It’s _not_ ‘fine’, you could have gotten hurt! God, I’m such a klutz,” Daisuke muttered, heavy with remorse.  
  
“It wasn’t your fault, I’m the one who tripped.”  
  
Looking back, this might have been the perfect moment for Ken to draw away, and put an end to whatever this little indiscretion had been, before things went too far.  He could have saved them from certain humiliation, and maybe they could have just talked about it later, or pretended that it never happened at all, slipping back into their own version of Normal. The moment had reasonably passed, but his heart continued hammering ceaselessly behind his ribcage.    
  
Maybe that blow to the head had knocked all sense out of him. When their eyes met, Daisuke looked so _guilty,_ and Ken couldn’t think of any other way to wipe that ill-suited look off his face.  Like charmed serpents, Ken’s arms moved of their own volition, winding their way around the back of Daisuke’s neck. Gentle lips pressed a kiss against Daisuke’s temple.  Warm hands and firm arms wrapped around Ken’s back, skin to skin, subtle friction like tiny shocks of static electricity.  Daisuke pulled Ken into his lap, their bodies flush as he buried his face in the crook of his partner’s neck, breathing deeply the scent of his skin.     
  
With dizzying speed, Ken found himself on his back, stretched out over the couch cushions, and Daisuke looming over him.  One hand grasping the back of the couch, Daisuke leaned down, his mouth eagerly tracing a path from sternum to navel.   Fingers digging into the sofa cushion, Ken bit down on his bottom lip, swallowing the shameless moan that had risen in his throat.  The sensation of warm breath against the exposed skin of his hip was almost more than he could stand.  Ken twisted into his touch as Daisuke made quick work of unfastening and tugging off his pants. A moment later, they lay discarding on the floor with the rest of their clothes.  The two were now equally matched in their state of undress, and a delayed sense of modesty cut through Ken’s mind.  Suddenly shameful, he averted his eyes, shrinking into the sofa.  Daisuke stilled above him.   Warm fingers slipped under Ken’s chin.  
  
“Hey.  Look at me,”  Daisuke breathed.  
  
Finally, he looked.  

Daisuke once again took Ken’s lips with his own, this time gently sucking them, coaxing the softest of whimpers from his throat.  He felt Daisuke’s smile against his mouth, toned legs shifting around and between his own.   The weight of Daisuke’s body pressing him into the couch was divine in its complete simplicity.  Legs twined with legs, hips and chests crushed together as Ken slipped his fingers into Daisuke’s hair, pulling him closer.  He deepened their kiss, as if he could will their bodies to dissolve into one, the way their partners Jogressed so many times before. One Mind, and Heart, and  _ Body-- _

That’s when Ken heard the sound of the front door unlatching, the hinges creaking from the cold of winter.

 

And then there was a knock at the door.  

Ken’s eyes slowly opened, and reality seeped back in.  He’d slipped down in the bath to nearly his nose, the water leaching up to soak most of his hair.  He could feel the feverish flush in his skin, and might have chalked it up to drawing the bath too hot, except that when he shifted, the water felt tepid at best.  Beneath the still water, he realized his hand had slid far below his waistline, over his hips, between his legs, and--

The knock came again, louder this time.  

“Ken-chan?  Are you alright in there?” his mother’s voice cut through the quiet.  
  
Ken jerked upright, his shoulders bobbing out of the bath water, the sudden change in position and temperature leaving him light-headed.  Instinctively, he clung to the side of the tub for stability and modesty.  Despite the security of the locked door separating him from his well-meaning mother, his heart raced.

“Yes--”  his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, “Yes, I’m fine.  Just… just relaxing.”  
  
“It’s getting late, and you’ve been in there for almost an hour.  It’s not good for you to let the water get cold.  You’ll make yourself sick.”

His mother was sweet, particularly doting toward her son, but this was one of those times where her over-protective streak went completely unappreciated. 

“I’ll be done soon,” Ken replied, pinching his eyes shut, all the while praying she would just  _ go away.  _

Finally, he got his wish. She replied with a somewhat appeased “Alright,” and “There’s hot water if you’d like some tea,” before he heard her retreating footsteps.  Adrenaline spike tapering off, Ken released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Glancing down at himself, he bit back a quiet groan. Already an hour in the bath, no closer to sorting out his thoughts and feelings, and now he needed another shower. __ A very _ cold  _ shower.   Ken sunk back down into the chilling water, burying his face in his hands.  He wanted to be sick. 

_ “ _ What is  _ wrong _ with me? _ ” _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, you know exactly what went down with Ken and Daisuke before Jun walked in on them in chapter one. Admittedly, this chapter was a bit self-indulgent (hello, soft-smut), but it is still somewhat important in Ken’s mental and emotional journey in this story. It’s probably worth nothing that the reason Ken is able to assign intent and feeling to this scene NOW, is because he has thought it over and over, and hindsight has added a lot.


	4. In Which Christmas Eve Comes and Goes

Christmas Eve snuck up on the Ichijouji household with hardly any warning.  Sure, there were endless lights decorating the city, and festive displays in retail shop windows, but it had seemed like only a day or so ago that Ken had been talking to Daisuke about what they should do over winter break.  Now, winter break had arrived, and it had been two weeks since Ken had had a proper conversation with his best friend.  His phone sat harmlessly in his pocket while he attempted to focus his attention on the spread of winter break homework covering his desk.  The load they’d been given was heavier than usual, but Ken had welcomed the distraction.  When his mind was full of numbers, verbs, and dates, it left very little space for thinking about warm skin, soft lips, tight muscles and--

A soft knock at his bedroom door interrupted his endlessly wandering thoughts.

“Ken-chan?” his mother’s voice called from the other side.

His shoulders relaxed.  “Yes?”

At that, the door slowly eased open. There stood his mother, clad in a modest dress of periwinkle silk that Ken recognized as an old favorite.  Ichijouji Asako was a demure woman, all sweetness and soft edges, and Ken couldn’t help the gentle smile that crossed his face at the sight of her.  He took a moment to admire the way she had coiled her normally loose curls into a pinned coifer, the diamond studs adorning her earlobes and, for the first time in years, that she had put on makeup.   When his father had proposed that he take her out for a nice Christmas Eve like the Good Old Days, Ken swore he had never seen her look so bright.  At least, not until that very moment, standing in his doorway, absolutely glowing.

“You look wonderful,” he said, rising from his chair.   

A soft blush rose to her face, one hand cupping her cheek.

“Oh, thank you, sweetheart.  We’re just about to head out, are you sure you’ll be alright alone?”

“For the third time, _yes_ ,” he replied.  What might have been irritation was tempered with affection. “I’m not a child anymore, I can look after myself.”

“Oh, I know that.” she replied, and her hand lifted from her face so that she could lovingly smooth his hair.  “You’ve become such a fine young man. I just thought you might be a little lonely is all.”

“I’m alright.  I have plenty to keep me busy.  And, I have Wormmon to keep me company, too.”

From his blanket nest in Ken’s bed, Wormmon peered down at them both, his face aglow with pride and affection.  

“You can count on me!  I’ll make sure he eats right, and doesn’t stay up all night!”

“Wormmon…”  Ken exhaled with exasperation, and his mother giggled.  

“Alright then, you boys have a good night,” said Asako, rising to the tips of her toes to plant a peck on her son’s cheek.

But before she could depart the room, her husband appeared in the doorway.  Broad shoulders cut in a smart suit and tie, thinning hair combed back and affixed with mousse, Ichijouji Masafumi looked like he had been plucked from the pages of a 1950’s fashion catalogue.  

“Sorry to interrupt, but we need to get going,” he said, gesturing to his wrist watch, “our reservation is in 15 minutes.”

“Oh goodness, look at me, just losing track of time,” Asako fussed, “I don’t imagine we’ll be out too late though, we’re not teenagers anymore.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure, you haven’t seen what I have planned,” Masafumi countered, all puffed up pride and a smile wide as the moon, delicately taking his wife’s arm in his.

“And, Ken?” his father continued, “One of your friends is here to see you.”

Despite the heartwarming image of his parents arm-in-arm, Ken felt all the heat swiftly drain from his body.  There was only one person who sprung to mind, that would come all the way out to Tamachi on Christmas Eve, especially unannounced.  Images of mahogany hair, dark eyes and white-rimmed goggles danced through his head. Ken felt as though he’d swallowed a stone, his heart dashing against his ribs like it meant to burst out of his chest.  When he found his tongue again, it was dry and stuck to the roof of his mouth.  

“One of my… friends?” he croaked.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, you’ll have some company after all!” his mother exclaimed, joyously oblivious to her son’s discomfort.

“Ah… right…” Ken murmured softly.

The very idea of being alone with Daisuke at that moment was completely terrifying.  Saying he was ‘not ready’ to face him yet was a gross understatement.  Wormmon shimmied down from the loft and crawled along beside him as he silently followed his parents down the hall, several paces behind them.  He paused at the entrance to the living room, watching as his parents slipped on their shoes, grabbed an umbrella in anticipation of heavier snowfall, and then slipped out for the night.  For half a second, he contemplated ducking into the bathroom for a surgical mask, just to drive home the idea that he might be contagious and shouldn’t have visitors.   Instead, Ken attempted to swallow his fears, steeling himself as he entered the living room.

Perched quite literally on the arm of the couch was a familiar bundle of sugar and rust colored feathers, slowly preening the snow-damped tangles from his wings.  His human partner sat beside him on the cushions proper, gaze in her lap as she absently fidgeted with the brown paper bag in her hands.  A thin lock of dusty hair spilled from behind her ear, and she absently reached to tuck it back into place, her heel bouncing anxiously against the floor.  Ken released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, awash in relief.  A hint of disappointment lingered like a bad aftertaste, but he pushed it aside.

“Hawkmon!”  Wormmon called jovially, and the tense silence of the room shattered.  

Miyako looked up sharply, her tapping coming to a sudden halt.  As soon as her gaze landed on Ken, she seemed to come alive; her eyes brightened, and a smile that could have rivaled any Christmas display lit up her face.  

“Hi, Ken-kun,” she chirped.

“It’s nice to see you, Miyako-san, Hawkmon,” said Ken, smiling softly.

“Good Evening, Ken-san! Wormmon!” Hawkmon hailed, raising one wing in greeting.

Glasses glinting in the light, Miyako coyly twirled a bit of hair around her finger.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I hope we’re not intruding.”

“No, of course not.  You’re always welcome.  Would you… ah..  like some tea?” he asked.

Miyako beamed. “That’d be great!”

“Might I ask if there are any... _snacks_?” Hawkmon chimed.

“ _Hawkmon,”_ Miyako hissed, and Ken chuckled.

“I think there’s still some Christmas Cake.  My parents won’t mind if we polish it off,” he replied, shuffling toward the kitchen.

Ken was the picture of calm as he filled and switched on the electric kettle, but one worry had been replaced with another. Inside, his brain ran circles on a hamster wheel.  He’d been so relieved to see someone other than Daisuke in the living room, he was only just beginning to question his unusual visitor.  What was Miyako doing here?  She’d never visited him like this before.  Why was she alone?  Had the others noticed him withdrawing? Did she know about what happened?  Certainly, Daisuke wouldn’t have told anyone ...Would he? Why wasn’t it Daisuke sitting on the couch?

...Did he _want_ it to be?

Ken felt his neck grow warm, and he pulled at his collar for some relief.  When he noticed that Miyako, Hawkmon and Wormmon had all taken up residence at the dining table, three pair of eyes intently watching him bustling around the kitchen, he realized that he had been unusual quiet in his preparations.  

“Ken-kun, are you ok?  You look a little flushed,” said Miyako.

For a moment he froze, cleared his throat, then went to retrieve the necessary place settings.

“It’s nothing, probably just... steam from the kettle.” It was a stretch, especially given that he had just set the water, but he prayed Miyako would take him at his word as he swiftly changed the subject.

“I’m a little surprised to see you all the way out here, though.  Especially by yourself,”  said Ken, as he set out four plates and four cups.  

Miyako giggled nervously, her fingers back to spinning strands.   “Well, you know. I was in the neighborhood.”

Ken paused, knife halfway through the cake, and looked at her across the counter.  One slender brow arched quizzically as he allowed the words to sink in. The smile twitched on her face, and then she deflated.

“Ok, no, I wasn’t in the neighborhood, even I know that doesn’t make sense,” she amended, folding her arms on the tabletop.  “It’s just, no one’s really heard much from you lately.   Last _I_ heard you hadn’t been feeling well, so I wanted to come out and check up on you.”

“O-oh.”  Ken stammered, then returned to slicing the sponge cake.  

 _Right.  Not feeling well._  He had used that excuse quite liberally with Daisuke recently. He’d only meant to imply minor maladies -- a headache, or being tired, just enough to make it reasonable that he would not want to come all the way out to Odaiba.  He only kicked it up a notch when Daisuke implied he might come to him instead.  And that’s when he responded at all.  It hadn’t really occurred to Ken that it would get back to the others, or that they might become concerned about him.

“I didn’t mean to make anyone worry,” he continued, “I’m fine, I’ve just been busy with the end of the term, and I wasn’t getting much sleep before the break.  Then, our teachers gave my class a lot of homework for the break, too.”  It wasn’t entirely a lie, but he may have been stretching the truth a bit to serve his needs. True, the assignments had been substantial, but nothing he couldn’t handle without needing to sacrifice sleep or social engagements.  

Miyako propped her chin in one hand, giving him a sympathetic pout.

“Ehhh... That’s rough.  But, I guess that’s what it’s like to go to a private school, huh?”

Ken murmured a sound of agreement as he stacked the sweets and dishes onto a tray

“Should be worth it in the end, though.  It will look good on my university applications.”

Ken shut the kettle off just before it reached a full boil, and poured the water and tea leaves into the pot.    

“What, you mean ‘former-boy-genius’ isn’t enough to get by these days?”  Miyako joked.

“You know It hasn’t been so effortless for me in years.”

Tray contents delicately balanced, Ken rounded the corner, and took the last free seat beside Miyako.

“I know, I know…” replied Miyako, waving her free hand dismissively, “Maybe you’re not a Child Prodigy anymore, but you’re still in the top percentile. I bet every university in the region is going to be fighting for your attention. I mean, you _are_ still a little famous.”

Ken wordlessly dismissed the subject by focusing his attention on the tea and cake.  As soon as the tray touched the table, the attention of their digimon amplified ten-fold.  Ken was no fool -- he served them first to avoid a mess, then passed a plate to Miyako, a small silver fork laid delicately alongside the whipped-cream and strawberry topped sponge.   Ken could have sworn he saw her eyes sparkle at the sight of the simple cake, and he smiled softly as he began to pour tea into plain white ceramic cups.  Both Hawkmon and Wormmon had already set upon their treats like starving wolves, and Ken suppressed the urge to laugh.

“I hope you like it, my mother baked it herself,” he said, taking the final plate for himself.

“Ehhh?!  You mean I get to eat Ichijouji-san’s home baked Christmas Cake?”  Miyako exclaimed, as if it were the greatest honor she had ever received.

Ken’s smile turned awkward.  “It’s just a cake, Miyako-san.  But I’ll tell her you appreciated it.”

Miyako was completely nonplussed, fork poised and stars in her eyes.  “Thanks for the caaake!” she trilled, reverently cutting into the sponge and then savoring the first bite of strawberries and whipped cream.    

Gradually, the tension eased from Ken’s shoulders, and the buzzing in his mind quieted. He found himself relaxing, listening distractedly as Miyako told him at length the things he had missed by not going to the same school as the rest of them.  Most of it went over his head, names he didn’t know, events he hadn’t attended, but he didn’t mind, nor did he have the heart to interrupt her.  She filled him in on Iori’s endless studying, and how her parents were cutting back her hours at the store after the New Year, so that she could focus on her upcoming final year in high school.   Ken mildly sipped his tea, enamored with her display of energy and vitality.  He even found himself laughing along with her now and then, and if she noticed how little he talked, she didn’t call him out on it.  In a lot of ways, she and Daisuke were very much alike.

And there was Daisuke again, slipping unbidden into his thoughts.  Ken’s face clouded and his soft laughter trailed off.  He drowned his own awkwardness in tea, holding the cup to his lips for far longer than was necessary, so he wouldn’t have to speak.   Why did it seem like everything reminded him of Daisuke?

Through all of this, Ken had failed to notice that Miyako had placed the paper bag from earlier, under her chair.  That is, until he saw her glancing there, for even a split second, appearing to give it some heavy consideration.  The two of them had officially lapsed into silence.  The only sounds in the room were Wormmon clattering with his fork, and Hawkmon attempting to slurp some tea through his beak.  Ken watched as Wormmon attempted to scrape the last bits of whipped-cream off his plate.  Discretely, Ken slid his own half-finished slice across the table to his partner.  Wide blue eyes shimmered in gratitude, and he turned to share the half-slice with Hawkmon.  Ken smiled warmly at Wormmon’s display of kindness.   

“So, um…” Miyako began, drawing his attention back to her.  “There’s one more reason I came by.”

Ken canted his head to the side, and something in his gut twisted.  Something about her tone and the sudden change in her demeanor had him certain that she was about to broach a very serious topic.  He was suddenly quite glad he’d already given away his cake, as there was no way he’d be able to stomach the rest.  Miyako shifted in her chair, glanced down at the floor, and then back up again.  Hawkmon noticed her discomfort, and immediately drew attention to himself.

“Ah, _goodness me_ , I seem to have gotten _whipped cream_ in my _feathers_!” he cried dramatically, even as he dipped his wing directly into the remains on his own plate.  “Wormmon, might I trouble you to show me where I could wash up?”

The green caterpillar blinked owlishly, looked back and forth between Ken and Hawkmon, then set down his fork.  

“Ah, sure!” he replied, hopping down from his chair.  “Follow me.”

Ken eyed them suspiciously as Wormmon skittered from the room and Hawkmon followed close behind.  While he was distracted, Miyako reached under the table, fished into the paper bag, and withdrew its contents.  

“I wonder what that was all about,” Ken mumbled to himself.

He turned back to face his guest, and was startled nearly out of his chair as Miyako thrust a glittering blue package two-handed, directly into his face, narrowly missing his nose.

“Merry Christmas!” Miyako cried, ducking her head. “It’s nothing special, but I hope you’ll accept it!”

Heat rushed to Ken’s cheeks, painting them an unflattering shade of pink.  

“You got me a --”  

Blinking wide eyes, Ken took in the object invading his personal space.  The fluffy silver ribbon was only moderately flashy against the holographic powder-blue paper.  Miyako gripped the mid-sized, flat box with such intensity that her knuckles nearly matched the crisp white tag dangling from the center knot.  Once the shock wore off, Ken gently laid his palms against the package, softly pushing it back towards her.

“I couldn’t possibly accept it.”

“Please, I insist!” Miyako continued, thrusting the package once more with even more intensity, her elbows locked, and her eyes nearly boring holes through him.

Ken swallowed.  Normally, he would have attempted to reject it at least once more, but Miyako could be quite stubborn, and a bit scary; he suddenly felt that not upsetting her was of much greater value that abiding by gift-receiving etiquette.  Gingerly, he took the box into his hands, and finally she released it.  Pulling it closer, he quietly admired the presentation, thin fingers plucking nervously at the fluffy bow.  He suddenly found it difficult to look her in the eyes, though he could still feel them, and the heat of their focus.

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t get anything for you.” he murmured, finally glancing up through his lashes.  

Her cheeks glowed a brilliant cherry color, and she nervously adjusted her glasses.  

“Oh, no, don’t even think about it, you didn’t have to get me anything I just…I _wanted_ to get you something.  So…”

When it became clear that she wasn’t going to finish that sentence, Ken looked once more at the box.  He turned it this way and that in his hands, uncertain what to do with it.  The table was fairly covered with plates and cups, so there was no room to set it down.  When he lifted his head, he found Miyako much closer than he remembered.  Her hands were curled into fists on the table as she leaned ever closer to him, eyes unblinking.  She said nothing, though her eyes shifted from him, to the box, then back to him.  

“Did you want me to … open it now?”  he asked hesitantly.

Miyako nodded vigorously, and Ken schooled his face into neutrality.  Whatever gift she had chosen, he wanted to be assured that she wouldn’t think he disliked it.  Taking extra care with the bow, Ken slowly worked out every knot, letting the ribbon slide to the floor.  Then, he took equal care to peel back the tape, unfolding the paper without a single tear.  He could hear the barely-suppressed squeak of anxiousness beneath Miyako’s breath as he gently lifted the lid from the box.   His poker-face faltered, jaw slack as he reached inside.   Slowly, reverently, he withdrew the length of gray cashmere knit, admiring the feel of the lavender fringe between his fingers.  

“Miyako-san…”   he breathed, handling the scarf with both hands, genuine awe across his face.  Judging by the weight and materials, it must have been on the expensive side.  “You really shouldn’t have.”

She perked up almost instantly, hands clasped as if in prayer, tucked tightly beneath her chin.

“You like it?”  

He nodded, his fingers closing around the scarf.  “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”   

Ken hadn’t thought it possible, but at his words of gratitude, the wattage of Miyako’s smile instantly doubled.   

“You should try it on!” she cried enthusiastically.

Before he could blink, she was out of her chair, nimbly plucking the scarf from his hands.  He startled at the sudden movement, instinctively tensing up as she began to drape it around his shoulders, coiling it around his neck.

“Wha-- but, Miyako-san, we’re inside--”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” she reassured, “it’s just for a minute to see how it looks!”

A moment later, she stepped back to admire her work.  Miyako thoughtfully held her chin, cheeks rosy, and smile ever brightening.  Then, she nodded decisively, and folded her arms.  

“It looks really good on you!”

“You think so?”

“Mmhm!  Really brings out your eyes!”

He couldn’t be sure whether she was serious, or making fun of him, but either one would have had the same effect. Suddenly bashful and uncomfortably warm, Ken sank into the scarf like a turtle withdrawing into its shell, his mouth and nose vanishing beneath the cashmere.   “ _Miyako-san…_ ”

Miyako attempted to smother her giggles with her hand, and failed miserably.   For his part, Ken silently reached to unwind the scarf.

“Ken-kun?”

“Hm?”  he paused in his task, and looked up at her.  Her expression had turned suddenly serious.

“I have a confession.”

There it was again; that sudden, heavy feeling in his stomach, and an uncomfortable heat in his chest.  He said nothing, deciding it wiser not to interrupt her.  Her eyes drifted to the side, momentarily hidden by the reflection of her glasses. Her fingers clasped, and unclasped, before finally finding their way to a loose piece of her hair, twirling, pinching and twisting.  Ken finally recognized the gesture she’d been making all evening, as a nervous one.  

“I didn’t… get anyone else a christmas present.”

Miyako shot him a pointed look; one that was heavy with wishing, and waiting.  Her eyes pleaded for him to _see_ her, to _hear_ her, to understand what she _meant_ , and not what she said.  It was like they were speaking two different languages, and Ken felt a sudden inadequacy for being unable to translate her words.   After a moment’s pause, her expression faltered.  She could see she would need to be more direct.  Disentangling her fingers from her hair, Miyako grasped the back of her chair, pulled it out, and then sat down so that she was facing him directly.  Hands in her lap, elbows locked and eyes closed, Miyako’s fingers curled tightly into her knees.  She inhaled deeply, and Ken watched her, his fingers still frozen in the loose swath of his scarf.

“I wanted to tell you, I … _really_ like you, Ken-kun.  More than just as a friend.  I’ve had a crush on you since we were in elementary school.”

All the blood drained from his face, leaving him cold and pale.  Hindsight slammed into him like a freight train;  The nervous gestures, the way Hawkmon made an elaborate excuse to leave them alone… the special gift, on _christmas eve_ of all days?  Ken had enough experience with twitter-patted girls and love confessions that he’d become well practiced at turning them down.  But with Miyako, he’d been blind to all the usual signs.  His mind was a terrible, white blank.  What should he do?  What should he _say_ ? Turning down all those other girls hadn’t been _easy_ , but they’d never made him feel like he was holding a glass swan in the palm of his hand; so fragile.  He barely knew those girls -- most of them, he didn’t even remember their names. Miyako was different.  Miyako was his _friend!_    

“Is there any chance you’d want to… go out with me?”

How had he gone so long without even suspecting her? Maybe somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought, being friends made them immune to such complicated possibilities.

He’d been so foolish.  He wondered if there was any way to answer that wouldn’t hurt her.

“Miyako-san…” Ken began delicately, and her head snapped up.  He became the center of her undivided attention.  His mouth felt dry, and he licked his lips to moisten them.  “...I’m sorry.”

He watched as the hope drained out of her eyes. Slowly, her face fell, then her shoulders, rounding forward in a slump.  Miyako had never been good at hiding her true feelings, so she rarely tried.  This was no exception, but it didn’t make Ken any less remorseful.

“It’s no good, huh?” she murmured, her eyes falling into her lap.  

“I’m sorry,” Ken repeated, as if this time he could make it sound more comforting.  Slowly, his hands came to life again, and he slid the scarf from around his neck.  “You’re a very dear friend to me.  I care about you very much.  But I can’t ...return those feelings.”

Miyako couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her as she sagged back in her chair, her eyes drifting to the ceiling.  

“Hikari-chan warned me you might say something like that.”

Ken’s immediately stopped folding the scarf.

“Hikari-san did?”  he was openly balking at her now, as the world flipped suddenly on it’s head. “But, why would she--”

“There’s someone else, isn’t there?”  Miyako cut in, and Ken snapped his jaw shut with a sharp clack of his molars.

His fingers clenched in the scarf, his heart suddenly springing back to life.  He could feel it beating viciously against his sternum, his pulse spiking suddenly as his stomach did a single, dramatic flip.   Fight or flight; that’s what this was, wasn’t it?  The urge to leap from his chair and flee the room was certainly strong enough for it, despite the fact that he couldn’t seem to move his legs.  His throat closed up.

He didn’t know how, but he was convinced, Miyako _knew._

“I-- I don’t know what you--”

“Ken-kun, listen to me.”  Miyako interrupted him once more, and he didn’t know when she had come to be sitting so close to him, her hand laid over his, her own feelings carefully packed away behind a thin mask of understanding.  His entire body went rigid as he fought the impulse to pull away.  He didn’t even notice the two sets of Digimon eyes peering at them from around the corner of the living room doorway.

“Don’t be like me,” she continued, giving his hand a firm squeeze. “If there’s... _ever_ someone you like, don’t wait so long to tell them.  By the time you do, you could lose out, and no one will be happy with that kind of situation.”

If only Ken were in the right frame of mind to make any sense of her words.  Before he could even attempt a response, her hand was gone, and she had risen from the chair, arms stretched over her head.  

“Mmm.  Geez, I’m so tired.  Thanks for the tea and cake, but we should probably go.”

Ken glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s not that late, are you sure--”

“Yeah, I told my mom I wouldn’t be out too late anyway.  It’s not like I had a date or something,” said Miyako, dismissively, already moving to collect her coat.  

Suddenly jolted back to reality, Ken set the box and scarf in her vacated chair, and quickly rose to his feet.

“Let me walk you to the station,” he said.

“No, no, that’s okay!  I wouldn’t want to make you go out in this weather just to turn around and come right back.  It’s not that far, and the stations are probably going to be extra crowded tonight.”

Guilt settled in the pit of his stomach.  He remembered Daisuke trying to walk him to the station That Night, and how he had patently refused.   He’d just wanted to get away, and seeing the same reaction from Miyako was slowly eroding the wall of pride and self-preservation he’d built around himself.  He wanted nothing more than to assure her that this didn’t change anything… and clearly, all she wanted was away from him.

That heavy, sick feeling returned, and he closed his mouth against the wave of emotional nausea.

“Hawkmon! C’mon, it’s time to go!”

The pair of Digimon spies jumped and shuffled through the doorway, making their presence officially known.  Ken didn’t need to ask what they had been doing all that time.  A thick layer of remorse coated his throat, making speech impossible.  Instead, he followed her quietly to the door, watching her back as she sat to put on her shoes, and Hawkmon joined her in the genkan.   Tapping her toes into her boots, she looked up and gave him one last, watery smile as she reached for the doorknob.  

“Merry Christmas, Ken-kun.”

“Mm.  Merry Christmas… Miyako-san.”

Ken stared at the door for a full minute after they’d left, a hush falling over the apartment.  Outside the window, snowflakes danced in the streetlights.  He wished he’d thought to send her with an umbrella at least.  All the while, Wormmon sat loyally at his feet, gazing up at him.

Then, something vibrated against his leg.  Starteld by the sensation, Ken instinctively reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.  ‘(1) New Message’ blinked back at him, and he reflexively opened his emails.  He shouldn’t have been surprised to see one more email added to the growing list of rarely-answered messages from Daisuke, but it still caused his stomach to do an odd sort of flip.  

<<  _Merry Christmas, Ken! You doing anything? >>_

For a long moment, he just stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the keypad as he re-read the words over and over.  Anxiously, he gnawed at his bottom lip.  He knew he should respond.  

  
<<   _Merry Christmas.  Busy with my winter homework. >>_ He typed.  

He re-read the simple message once.  Twice.  A third time.  His thumb hovered over the send button.  
  
But what if Daisuke wanted to meet up?  What if he wanted to _come over_?

 _There’s someone else, isn’t there?_ Miyako had said.

But it wasn’t like that.  ...was it?

“Ne, Ken-chan, what’s wrong?” Wormmon asked, pulling Ken sharply back to reality.

“Ah… Nothing.  It’s nothing.” he said, turning his attention to his Digimon partner.  “Hey, there’s still some cake left, do you want another piece?”

“Can I? Really? Oh boy!” cried Wormmon, leading the way back towards the kitchen.    
  
Ken took one last look at his screen.  Instead of hitting send, he tapped the trash can icon, then woefully tucked the phone back into his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand, I’m back! Wow. I wanna apologize for the MASSIVE gap of time between the posting of Chapter 3, and this one -- nearly 3 months! I had a major project come up and had to set aside writing for a bit in order to make my deadline, but I wasn’t completely unproductive; I spent some time during that hiatus outlining the rest of this story, as well as working some sporadic scene writing and outlining for the planned Sequels and Side Stories. :) I hope to get these things out at least one chapter per month going forward, but we’ll see how it pans out. This one came out as the longest chapter so far!
> 
> There are LOTS of notes for this chapter, for which I apologize.  
> X. Ken’s parents were not given canonical names. Since I plan to use them at least a bit in the future, especially further down the road, I thought that referring to them as just “Mr and Mrs Ichijouji” and/or “his Father/Mother” would get kinda clunky. There’s actually a HUGE pattern canonically of the chosen children’s parents being named after their Voice Actor/Actress, so I went ahead and followed the trend for Ken’s parents.
> 
> X. There are several terms used commonly in Japanese that don’t have a practical use/application in english. I’ve tried to avoid an excessive use of Japanese in my writing aside from the use of honorifics, so in some places I have tried to use a reasonable english substitute. For example, Miyako would likely have said “Itadakimasu” before diving into that cake, but here I have substituted “Thanks for the cake!”
> 
> X. In Japan, Christmas cakes are traditionally eaten on Christmas Eve. They are simply a sponge cake, frosted with whipped cream, often decorated with strawberries, and usually topped with Christmas chocolates or other seasonal fruits, and a Santa Claus decoration. 
> 
> X. Christmas, particularly Christmas Eve, is celebrated in a more general good-cheer manner, with the focus on couples, and sometimes children/friends. Between couples, Christmas Eve is much more like how Valentine’s Day is celebrated in the states, involving giving a nice gift to your significant other, and going out to a nice dinner or on a particularly nice date. It’s considered a Romantic day. 
> 
> X. When it comes to giving gifts in general, there is a very strong sense of etiquette to the whole thing, which I’ve tried to convey properly in this chapter. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I’ve already got the next one started, and now that I’m off Hiatus, it should hopefully be out faster than it took me to do this one. All of your comments are appreciated and, truly, make my day so much brighter <3


	5. In Which Daisuke Mopes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japan runs on a 24 hour clock. 1:00PM = 13:00, 2:00PM = 14:00, and so on, and so forth.

“Maybe I should have just stuck with normal photo albums,” Hikari mused softly.  

Photography was a hobby that she had picked up in fourth grade and never put back down. By extension, taking up scrapbooking had seemed like a great idea. Now, she was regretting it.  What had started out as a nice quiet way to spend Christmas Eve had quickly turned her room into a war zone of colored, patterned, and metallic paper. The carpet was littered with various packs of flat backed rhinestones, ticket stubs and old fliers, and stickers she wasn’t even sure she could find a use for anymore.  Half-assembled pages surrounded her in a rainbow arc of familiar faces, photos not yet glued down, and glitter that had shed off of at least three of the leaflets.  The whole thing was proving to be extremely overwhelming, and unnecessarily expensive. She hadn’t touched any of the three spools of colored ribbon she’d bought.  What had ever made her think she needed this many types of paper?  Sighing to herself, Hikari cradled her chin in her hand, looking over all of the works-in-progress.  

Lying curled at the foot of her bed, up and away from the mess, Tailmon absently played with one of Hikari’s extra spools of ribbon.  

“I’m sure it will be pretty once it’s finished,” said Tailmon, batting playfully at her new toy.

“ _If_ I ever finish it,” Hikari countered.

The spool cascaded over the edge of the bed, swiftly unrolling into a long pink strand.   Suddenly sheepish, Tailmon attempted to reel it all back in before Hikari could notice.  The sound of her phone vibrating against the bedside table pulled Hikari’s attention away from her project.  Welcoming the interruption, Hikari leaned precariously over the spread of craft carnage, and nimbly plucked the phone between her fingers.  Kneeling in the odd negative spaces like a bizarre game of twister, Hikari flipped her phone open.   

_ << You were right. Ken-kun turned me down. >>   _

Hikari winced.  She hadn’t really thought Miyako would go through with it, and especially not on Christmas Eve.  That was bold, even for her.    Scrapbook forgotten for the moment, Hikari carefully shifted to her feet, tip-toeing around the pages so that she could sit on the edge of her bed.  Tailmon had gathered her ribbon back onto the comforter, though it did not so much resemble a ball as it did a tumbleweed.  Hikari paid her no mind.  

 _ << I’m sorry, Miyako-san. >> _ _  
_ _ << Did he say why? >> _

Tailmon glanced up at her, large gloved paws fumbling to wind the ribbon back onto the spool.

_ << No.  Just that he considers me a good friend, but he doesn’t feel that way about me. >> _

Hikari’s brow creased, the corners of her mouth turned down in a frown.  She thought it an awfully vague reason, even if it was totally valid.   It certainly didn’t confirm or rebuke any of her suspicions.  Those would have to be saved for another time.  Even if she knew without a shadow of a doubt that Miyako would bounce back quickly from all this, in that moment, she needed a friend more than anything else.  

 _ << Are you ok? >> _  
  
Hikari stared at her phone for a long moment, felt the warmth of it cradled in her palm.  Her desktop clock ticked away the seconds.  Finally, the phone vibrated in her hand.

_ << I will be.  Probably. >> _

Hikari pulled her legs up onto the bed, resting her elbows on her knees.

_ << Is there anything that might cheer you up? >> _

Miyako’s next reply came much quicker than her last.

 _ << I want to eat a whole bucket of ice cream.  _ _ << and watch Hollywood Rom-Coms >> _

Hikari smiled at her phone; that was the Miyako she knew.   Tailmon glanced up from her work, the ribbon no closer to being properly wound, but certainly a bit more knotted than before.  

_ << Are you at home? >> _

_ << I will be soon. I’m on the train back from Tamachi. >> _

Perfect.

_ << OK. I’ll be at your place in an hour. Is Mint Chip ok? >> _

_ << You know me so well, Hikari-chan.  You’re the best. Sleep-over? >> _

_< < Sleep-over. >>_  
  
A second later, Hikari slid off the bed and onto her feet, tucking her phone into her back pocket. Hands on her hips, she stared down at the storm of glitter and glossy prints, and heaved a sigh.  Maybe a break would give her the inspiration she needed.  She just hoped that if her mom saw the mess she was leaving, she wouldn’t be too mad about it.      
  
“Tailmon, let’s go.”  
  
Her partner looked up just in time to watch Hikari tip-toe to her desk and retrieve her purse and large tote-bag.  Fishing into her dresser drawer, she pulled a nightgown, and a quick change of clothes, both of which went into the bottom of the bag.     
  
“Where are we going?” asked Tailmon.  
  
“To Miyako-san’s.  But we have to make a couple stops on the way,” replied Hikari, her eyes on the floor as she carefully navigated the minefield of scissors, foil and memorabilia.

Having finally maneuvered to the clear edge of the room, Hikari opened her bag for Tailmon to hop in, and all at once froze.  Laughter bubbled up in her throat as she took in the sight of her digimon partner, half-tangled in some unintentional game of cat’s cradle, her ear twitching in annoyance and shame.    
  
“Don’t worry,” said Hikari, choking back her giggles, “You can bring the ribbon.”  


* * *

 

They’d been forecasting snow for weeks, but of course, it would be Christmas Eve that it finally decided to fall.  The soft flakes were easy to see through the living room window, illuminated by city lights against a darkened skyline.  It brought an odd hush over the world, as snow always seemed to do.    The Motomiya household was plunged into darkness save for the light of the snow-filled window, and the flickering glow of the television.  Daisuke stared vacantly at the screen, having long ago stopped paying attention to what was playing out.  It was something he’d seen before, he was pretty sure of that much.    He leaned back into the sagging couch cushions and kicked his feet up on the coffee table.  His mom would have had a fit if she’d seen him (It’s a table, not an ottoman, she’d said a dozen times before), but he couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment.  Soft, whistling snores floated out of the little blue dragon curled up beside him.  Vmon had fallen asleep about halfway through a bag of popcorn, the butter-coated package still clutched in his claws.  For what must have been the fiftieth time in the last three hours, Daisuke scooped his phone off the armrest beside him, and glanced at the display.   _23:46, No New Messages_.  Aside from the time, nothing had changed from the last forty-nine times.  

  
Vmon snorted in his sleep and clutched the popcorn bag like a favored toy.  Daisuke glanced at the disturbance, and Vmon’s leg twitched like a dog that dreams of running.  The smallest of smiles pulled at Daisuke’s mouth, and he wondered for half a bemused second what digimon dreamed of.  Knowing Vmon, probably of food, and playing games with his friends.   The smile faded.  They could have been out with any of their friends that evening, but Daisuke had been banking on Ken -- hoping that, now that winter break had arrived, his mysteriously busy schedule and list of inconvenient maladies would clear.  Daisuke heaved a sigh, knocked his head back to stare at the ceiling, then lifted his cell phone into his line of sight for the fifty-first time.  
  
_23:51, No New Messages._

Daisuke folded his arm over his eyes, the cell phone dangling from his fingers.  
  
“I guess he’s not gonna email me back at all,” he said to no one.  Saying it out loud hurt a little more than he expected.  
  
And it wasn’t the first time this had happened. For the last two weeks, Ken’s responses had been rare; brief and dismissive when they’d come at all.   As the clock ticked closer to midnight, the horrible truth was beginning to dawn on him.  Either Ken was really too busy, or worse and increasingly more likely… he was avoiding him.  Now that Daisuke forced himself to look at the big picture, he could see that things had been wrong ever since Jun had walked in on them.  One stupid moment of experimentation, of indiscretion, and the whole thing had blown up in their faces.  
  
Not that he hadn’t enjoyed himself, once they started to get the hang of it.  At the time, he thought Ken had, too.  Even with how quickly he’d left, Daisuke had been sure it was just embarrassment that they’d been caught in a compromising position.  Now, the doubt was beginning to set in.  After a day to clear his own head, Daisuke had just been eager to take Ken at his word and push them back into a sense of normalcy. It was the end of the term, and it was winter, so heavy loads of homework and seasonal illness weren’t so strange.  Ken usually balanced his workload with ease and was as healthy as a horse, but now that they were in high school, things could be different.  ...Right?  
  
“Ugh, who’m I kidding?” he grumbled, again to no one. _Of course it wouldn’t be that simple.  It’s Ken, after all._  
  
Not a single person who knew Daisuke would have pegged him as the type to mope, and yet there was no denying that’s exactly what he was doing.  His body sank so deeply into the couch that if he’d bothered to rise he would have found a substantial dent left in the shape of his backside.  His head felt dull and heavy, and a profound loneliness seemed to crawl up from his belly and fill his chest with congealed dread.   In nearly six long years, he couldn’t remember a time when Ken had ever been so distant.  

His best friend, his team-mate, and arguably the most important human being in his life, was in fact, avoiding him.  Just thinking about it made his stomach threaten to dislodge itself through his throat.

That is, until the sound of the front door caught his attention.  A high-pitched squeal drifted down the hallway and Daisuke pulled the arm away from his eyes just in time to watch a familiar shadow slipping into the genkan.  Jun shut the door as slowly and softly as she could, and began brushing the snowflakes from her hair.   Daisuke waited for her to take off her shoes.  

“You’re home late,” he remarked, turning his eyes back to the TV.  “Kinda surprised you came home at all.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” replied Jun, and she dropped her purse on the kitchen counter.  Then, she exhaled a long, thin sigh as she stretched her arms over her head.   “I was out with Satoshi-kun, ya know?  He’s so cool, and smart, and he took me to this really nice place, and then we went out to a club and oh man, I could have danced _all night_ .  Did I mention he’s hot, and totally into me?  He probably would have invited me back to his place, but ya know there’s his room-mate, and he has plans with his family tomorrow.  But it’s not like Mom and Dad care what time I get home anyway.”  
  
Daisuke couldn’t really argue with that.  About the only thing their parents seemed to care much about these days was their grades, and even that fire had cooled a bit.  Maybe it was because they were both old enough now to be trusted to be mature adults. Daisuke thought it was more likely they had finally given up on their social-butterfly boy-crazy daughter and their Straight-B average son that spent half his time on the soccer field, and the other galavanting around the Digital World.    
  
Jun glanced around the darkened apartment and set perfectly manicured hands on her hips.

“Where are they anyway?”  
  
“They went to bed a couple hours ago,” Daisuke deadpanned.  Instinctively, he reached for the remote, just so she wouldn’t be able to swipe it.  
  
“Pff.  Lame…. Though not as lame as you.”  replied Jun, and Daisuke could hear the grin in her voice as she sauntered over to the couch.   

Folding her arms, Jun leaned on the back of the L-shaped bend in the furniture.   She looked at her little brother, then at the TV.   “I mean, sitting alone in the dark, watching reruns on Christmas Eve?  I’m guessing your _boyfriend_ didn’t wanna go out tonight?”  
  
There was no explaining the sudden twinge in his chest, or the way he clenched his jaw. It was so much sharper than his usual response to Jun’s antagonism.  Instead of the typical loud protest, Daisuke simply glared sidelong at his sister.

“Shut up. He’s not my boyfriend,” he spat.  
  
“Uh-huuuuh, suuuure.  You say that, but you knew _exactly_ who I was talking about,” she goaded, fixing him with a smirk.    
  
Daisuke stewed silently over the underlying truth of her words, denied them vehemently to himself, and then feigned disinterest by staring at the TV.  His pulse pounded furiously and his fingers clenched around the remote control.    
  
“Leave me alone.  I’m trying to watch this,”  he grumbled.  He still didn’t have the foggiest idea what he was watching though, and he had a feeling Jun knew it too.

  
“Come to think of it --” she continued, as if he hadn’t said anything at all, “--I haven’t seen him around since your little... ‘experimentation’.   Didja finally scare him off?”  
  
Daisuke ground his teeth, his grip on the remote straining the plastic casing.  In a flash of fury, he slammed it down on the cushion and whirled on her.

 **  
** "If anyone scared him off, it was probably _you_!”

“ _Me_ ?” Jun snapped up, hand to her chest. “What’d _I_ do?”  
  
“You made a _scene_ !” Daisuke snarled.  
  
“Uh, you guys were _making out_ on the _couch_ in your _underwear_ ,” Jun hissed, and crossed her arms. “What’d you expect me to do, just _ignore_ that?”

Beneath the blue-green light of the TV screen, Daisuke’s flushed face resembled an angry blueberry.

“I EXPECTED you weren’t gonna be HOME for at least three more hours!” he bellowed.

“Yeah, well, that’s your fault, not mine.  I live here too ya know, I can come and go whenever I want,” she snarked.  “And I mean, _c’mon_ Daisuke, how inconsiderate of you.  Other people have to sit on that couch too, you could have at _least_ taken your little underpants-dance to your room.”

“ _I’m_ inconsiderate? What about you?  Everything was just fine until you started _screaming_.  If you had just minded your own business and gone to your room in the first place, he probably wouldn’t’ve run out like that!”

“Yeah, uh-huh, sure, or _maybe_ he just realized how _gay_ you were being and freaked out!” Jun squawked.  “If you ask me, Ichijouji-kun’s a saint to have put up with you this long.”

The sharp knife of anger and shame cut through his skull and erased all rational thought.  With a wordless snarl, Daisuke swiped one of the decorative pillows off the couch and pitched it full force at Jun.  It collided with her face with such speed that she yelped and stumbled back into the dining table on impact.  

“Why you little--!”

“Can’t you just leave me alone? You’ve made things bad enough as it is!” Daisuke barked.

Momentarily satisfied with his act of aggression, Daisuke flopped back down onto the couch, arms folded tightly over his chest.  Not two seconds later, the same pillow flew back across the room and slammed into the side of his head.  His ear rang painfully from the impact.  In less than a breath, Daisuke was up off the couch, halfway to climbing over the furniture to chase his sister, when suddenly the room flooded with light.  Both teens recoiled, shielding their eyes, an off-key chorus of hisses and groans. Daisuke fumbled back over the arm of the couch, and Jun whined for what might have been the first signs of an impending hangover.  
  
“Would you two _keep it down_ !  Do you know what time it is?  You’re going to wake the neighbors!”  
  
Through squinted lids, Daisuke managed to make out the blurry shape of their mother standing at the kitchen counter, pajama-clad, half asleep, and all irritated.  
  
“But ‘Kaasan,” Daisuke protested,” ‘Neechan was--”  
  
“I don’t care what you’re arguing about, either quiet down, or go to your rooms. You’re both old enough to know better, and I don’t want to hear any more of it, understood?”

“Yes Ma’am,” both mumbled begrudgingly.  

Sufficiently appeased, their mother disappeared back into her room, closing the door behind her.  The lights remained on, and in her absence a quiet tension blanketed the living room.  Now that they weren’t screaming at each other, neither of the teenagers seemed eager to speak again. The soft sound of the TV suddenly felt deafening.   Hunched back against the arm of the couch, Daisuke sucked in a deep breath and forced it out through his nose.  Lungs deflated, he tipped backward onto the cushions, legs hanging over the arm, and eyes fixed on the ceiling.  Somehow, through all of the ruckus, Vmon had not stirred, but when Daisuke landed the little digimon snuffled, rolled right over the edge of the cushion, and onto the floor with a resounding _whump_.   Daisuke didn’t have to look over to know that Vmon had slept through even that; the barely-interrupted snoring answered the question for him.  

“Jeez,” Jun muttered as she edged closer to the sofa, “that little guy really could sleep through a tanker truck explosion, couldn’t he?”  
  
“Mm,” Daisuke replied, distracted and noncommittal as he reached over his head to retrieve his phone once more.  

It was perhaps too much to hope that he’d gotten a new message in the midst of their screaming match.  Though the empty inbox disappointed him, it did not surprise him.  Not anymore.  Daisuke barely noticed his sister moving through his peripheral vision to take up Vmon’s vacated spot on the couch.  She reached for the discarded remote and Daisuke didn’t even try to stop her.   Instead, he opened up his message history, reading over all of his sent and received messages, few as they were.   Jun changed the channel, and Daisuke didn’t protest.  A heavy gloom settled over him once more as he scrolled back through the messages a second time.   Jun watched him from the corner of her eye, tapping the remote control against her knee.

For all of their differences, there was one thing that Daisuke and Jun had in common; Motmomiya’s were altogether too forward, and too stubborn for their own good.  Jun turned onto one hip, elbow resting on the back of the couch as she looked down at Daisuke.   

“Seriously though... you and Ichijouji-kun are usually joined at the hip. I’d almost believe he’d moved in with us when I wasn’t looking!  But I haven’t seen him in weeks, and it’s like you’ve been doing nothing but sitting around the apartment.”  
  
Daisuke forced a breath out through his nose, then swung his legs around so that he could sit up properly.  He wilted instantly, hunched over to rest his elbows on his knees.    
  
“S’not like I want to.  But he’s barely answered my emails lately, and hasn’t picked up or returned my calls.“

He expected some kind of smart comeback; another sharp insult, or probing question.  It never came.  Daisuke refused to look at her, so he missed the crumpled look of second-hand disappointment on her face.    
  
“Daisuke…” she whispered, a hand slowly reaching for his shoulder.  
  
He pushed himself off the couch, slipping just out of her reach.  
  
“This is stupid,” he grumbled, then shoved his phone into his back pocket.  “Tomorrow I should just march out to Tamachi and _make_ him talk to me.”

Jun leaned back on the couch and crossed one knee over the other.

  
“I dunnooooo,” she drawled, “If he’s not even answering your emails, you really think he’s going to react well to you just showing up at his door like that?”  
  
Daisuke froze.  He knew there was some truth in her words, and it only further irritated him to know she’d seen so quickly to the heart of things.  
  
“Y-you… You don’t know that,”  Daisuke protested, but it didn’t come out near as confident as he wanted it to sound.  
  
“Oh, but I know _you_ ,” replied Jun, “and you don’t know how to back off.”  
  
Daisuke cringed.  Hikari had said something like that to him before.  Almost everyone he knew had, actually.  He knew it, but he just never got any better at it.   Brow creasing, Daisuke crossed his arms and turned to look at Jun.  
  
“Alright, then what do _you_ think I should do?” he asked with an air of sarcasm.  
  
“Leave ‘im alone for a few days,” she replied, a coy smile creeping onto her face. “Don’t call, don’t email.  Let him come to you. Ya know... play ‘hard to get’.”    
  
Then, she winked.  Daisuke groaned, and rolled his head back, because simply rolling his eyes wasn’t enough to express the depth of his exasperation..    
  
“Hey, don’t you groan at me, _I_ know how these things work! I’ve got _way_ more experience than you,” Jun countered indignantly.

“I told you already, it’s not like that,” he huffed.  
  
“I don’t believe you for a _second_ .”  
  
“Whatever,” he groused.  Then, he bent down, collected Vmon against his shoulder, and turned on his heel.  “Do what you want.  I’m going to bed.”

Jun was wrong, he was sure of it.  She didn’t know Ken like he did.   _No one_ knew Ken like Daisuke did.  It was being forward and persistent that got Ken to open up to him in the first place!  If he hadn’t, who knows what might have happened.  No, leaving Ken alone was an idea that went against his very nature.  

  
_But what if she’s right?_ He wondered. _What if he_ never _wants to talk to me again?_  
  
A heavy sickness settled in his stomach.  If this had ruined their friendship, Daisuke was never going to forgive himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that took longer than expected, but there you have it, Chapter 5! The scene with Daisuke and Jun (the bulk of this chapter) was one I’d had in my head for MONTHS but was always terrified to tackle it for fear that I would somehow argue them into a corner, portray Daisuke out-of-character, or just not deliver on how important this scene was for Daisuke’s side of the story. I'm still uncertain about the end, but it was time for things to move forward. I hope you’re enjoying the story, and that you’ll enjoy what’s to come! Right now, I’m estimating the full story will end up around 9 chapters, but I may end up overshooting that. All comments are loved and appreciated. <3

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE: May 29th 2018:
> 
> I'm sorry this hiatus has stretched on for so long! I expect most of you have given up on me by now, but I do have quite a bit of this story roughed out, so I haven't completely left it to rot, I promise! I plan to edit/clean up the 5 chapters I've completley so far, in addition to posting the rest of the story upon completion. I've spent roughly 6 months of the last year neck-deep in home renovation projects and working on some personal things. I'm finally beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel, and am HOPEFUL that I can return to writing soon. Fingers Crossed!
> 
> Currently, "Matters of the Heart" is on posting hiatus. For the sake of the story, and my own writing comforts, I decided I needed to work on this fic in a less linear fashion. I will be working on the remaining chapters as a whole, and begin posting again when the entire rest of the story has been drafted. I hope you'll enjoy the rest of the story when it resumes!
> 
> I will also continue to post short one-shot works in the meantime. If you'd like to keep up with my writing progress in between updates, and see some of my much shorter drabble works, check out the "sumi writes stuff" tag on my tumblr, Sumiscribe  
> https://sumiscribe.tumblr.com/tagged/Sumi-Writes-Stuff


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